


Specific Agent Man

by zigCARNIVOROUS



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Comfort, Fanart, Flirting, Fluff, Foreplay, Hair Kink, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Playlist, Semi-Public Sex, Something More, Thirty-Nine, Tongue Bath, awkward waving, be my hero catch me big brawny cowboy sheriff, massive sugar dose, roughplay?, shower, two fools in ♡
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22782271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zigCARNIVOROUS/pseuds/zigCARNIVOROUS
Summary: "I can't think of a more pleasurable way to spend an afternoon than improving the practice of a skill among friends."* * *“Do you have any fantasies, Coop?”Snapped alert, looking at Harry.Pause.Deep, “Yes.”Harry smiles. He weaves his hands together between his knees. He speaks slowly, “My fantasy came true today, Cooper. I'm a really lucky guy. And I'd be lyin if I said I didn't want more.”
Relationships: Dale Cooper/Harry Truman
Comments: 67
Kudos: 38





	1. coral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ☕PLAYLIST LINK☕
> 
> https://youtu.be/mjJtzjVz8UE
> 
> ☕PLAYLIST LINK☕
> 
> Built To Last  
> ♡TOM PETTY & THE HEARTBREAKERS♡
> 
> Here Comes Your Man  
> ♡THE PIXIES♡
> 
> Little Bitty Pretty One  
> ♡THURSTON HARRIS♡
> 
> Summerbaby  
> ♡POLARIS♡
> 
> Wishin Well  
> ♡DAVID LYNCH♡
> 
> Hello Mary Lou (Goodbye Heart)  
> ♡RICKY NELSON♡
> 
> The Heavens  
> ♡RAVONETTES♡
> 
> I'll Stand By You  
> ♡THE PRETENDERS♡
> 
> In The Death Car  
> ♡IGGY POP♡
> 
> Mister Grieves  
> ♡THE PIXIES♡
> 
> All The World Is Green  
> ♡TOM WAITS♡
> 
> Always Crashing In The Same Car  
> ♡DAVID BOWIE♡
> 
> I Love You So  
> ♡BO DIDDLEY♡
> 
> Dream Baby (How Long Must I Dream)  
> ♡ROY ORBISON♡
> 
> Tonight  
> ♡IGGY POP♡
> 
> Cold  
> ♡ANNIE LENNOX♡
> 
> Call It Fate Call It Karma  
> ♡THE STROKES♡
> 
> The Lighthouse  
> ♡INTERPOL♡
> 
> Jabberjaw  
> ♡PHANTOM PLANET♡
> 
> Boogie Man  
> ♡AEROSMITH♡
> 
> As Usual  
> ♡POLARIS♡
> 
> (I Want To Live On An) Abstract Plain  
> ♡FRANK BLACK♡
> 
> Kakioki  
> ♡MEIKO KAJI♡
> 
> O Green World  
> ♡GORILLAZ♡
> 
> Heroes (alternate, rare version)  
> ♡DAVID BOWIE♡
> 
> Honey Bee  
> ♡TOM PETTY♡
> 
> Better Be Good To Me  
> ♡TINA TURNER♡
> 
> Blue Monday  
> ♡ORKESTRA OBSOLETE♡

  
  
  
  
  
Tommy Hill's Jeep rolls up Sheriff Harry S. Truman's driveway. Harry smiles, ambling out to the porch.  
  
The Jeep parks, Hawk gets out carrying two brown paper packages.  
“Hawk!”  
“Hey, Harry.” Hawk walks to the porch.  
“That wouldn't be your smokehouse salmon.”  
“It would be. My aunt talked me into that other recipe, too.”  
“No way.” It's a fine day in March, feeling like spring. “Well that's a big deal, Hawk.”  
“You know it.” It only took six years for him to cave; Hawk shakes his head at the recent memory of his reluctance to tinker with a time-tested crowd-pleaser.  
One package is unmarked. The other has a black marker sketch of a lemon wedge on the corner. Hawk hands this one to Harry, who makes an awed grunt through his smile.  
  
“I came over so you could tell me I didn't corrupt the fish.”  
“You didn't try it yet?”  
“I'm biased.”  
“I might be too, Hawk. Thanks. Alright!” Salmon salmon salmon. Harry pulls the twine bow and unwraps the package. The fillet is gorgeous, oily and toast-golden on the edges, speckled with coarse pepper, ready to fall apart at a touch. The smell tantalizes. Harry takes a choice piece and holds the package for Hawk to take one too. They both smile in the moment before they taste it.  
  
Hawk is somewhat unreadable, judging the flavor of his untried experiment and watching Harry's take.  
Harry is transported. “Wow. There's a new legend in town, bud.”  
There's a twinkle in Hawk's eye.  
  
  
  
They throw some darts down Harry's long porch. The classic recipe smoked salmon is also unwrapped and highly lauded.  
Heady with satisfaction, Harry says, “It's always the best but somehow it keeps getting better.”  
Hawk says, “The last batch was dry.”  
“Don't you stand on my porch and tell me that last batch was dry, deputy. It was perfect.”  
_“This_ is perfect.”  
“Also true.”  
They sip on longneck beers between throws. Harry's fly-tying box is on the workbench.  
“What were you thinking of tying there, Harry?”  
“Still decidin'.”  
There's more than fish and darts and golden afternoon light hanging in the air for Harry. A wistful lull overtakes the Sheriff.  
Before his throw, Harry says, “Guess who asked Coop to go night fishing.”  
_Thunk!  
_Hawk, with his wise smile, steps up to throw.  
_Thunk!  
_He returns his appraising gaze to Harry.  
A long moment elapses.  
“Major Briggs.” Harry says in a flat tone.  
_Thunk!_  
Hawk makes a small wind sound and Harry checks him. Hawk's lips are pursed, not quite hiding a 'that's-rough' smirk.  
“Yeah,” Harry says.  
He clears the board.  
Hawk sits in a woven branch chair.  
An early-spring froggy croaks out there.  
Harry paws around in his box of fly-tying goodies half-heartedly.  
Hawk shakes his head. This poor lunk. “Why don't you call him, Harry. We'll throw the axe at the stump.”  
Harry sighs.  
“We got the fish.” Hawk says.  
Harry stares at his deck, nearly sulking.  
“Recipe!” Hawk says.  
Harry looks at him and nods.  
  
  
“This is Sheriff Truman. Could you a ring Agent Cooper's room for me. Ah, please.” Harry clears his throat. He looks at Hawk who nods with stern encouragement.  
Through the phone, the Receptionist at the Great Northern says, “Oh. Agent Cooper hasn't returned, yet. He was very specific about, um, may I take your message, Sheriff?”  
Harry can hear the smile in her voice.  
“Yeah. You can tell him... Actually, it's not important."  
“Agent Cooper told me to note the time of his incoming calls, Sheriff Truman. And I can give you a number he left, in case it's urgent--”  
“No, that's fine thank you. Forget it.” Harry can feel Hawk's disapproval burrowing at the back of his head.  
She continues: “In case your call _regards_ a case." She giggles, "Mister Agent Cooper was _really_ specific.”  
“Don't make a note.” Harry says firmly.  
“Oh, here he is! Good afternoon, Agent Cooper!”  
Harry hears Coop's diminished voice say, “Good afternoon, Miss Sandy,”  
Quieter, away from the handset: “May I have someone help with your bag, Agent Cooper?”  
Coop's tiny voice: “That's not necessary, thank you.”  
“There's a call for you, Agent Cooper, it's Sheriff Truman on the line.”  
He hears Coop's little voice say, “Harry?” and the receptionist offers, “Do you want to talk here or can I, _shall_ I transfer the call to your room?”  
  
And then Coop is on the phone.  
  
“Harry, what's going on! Sorry to keep you waiting, I was on a personal errand.”  
Smiling, Harry says, “Hi, Coop.”  
Brightly, “Hi, Harry! Auspicious timing! I have been thinking about you.” Harry smiles a little more, Cooper continues: “I had intended to call you first thing because I need your advice about some purchases of fishing equipment. Now, the clerk had some excellent suggestions but... shoot, Harry, why don't you tell me what's going on.”  
“Well, nothing. Nothing specific.” He hears himself use the word the receptionist had used to describe Cooper and commands himself to be easygoing. Because some interior excitement about inviting Coop over to his house is scrambling his cool. He makes a point to take a deep breath and glance at Hawk, his steady second-in-command.  
  
“Got Hawk up here with a fresh batch of smoked salmon--”  
Cooper says, “Ooo!”  
“- and a throwing axe, we were thinking you could check the balance on it.”  
In a hushed-serious tone: “My goodness, Harry, I dreamed about smoked salmon this morning.”  
“How about that.”  
“Astonishing.”  
Aside: “He dreamed about smoked salmon, Hawk.” Harry says with some pride.

Hawk's eyebrows register surprise, but he can't quite keep an almost-smug (but not unkind) smile off his face. Harry's crush on Agent Cooper is severe. And getting worse by the minute. It makes Hawk glad to see him happy, and to be a part of the fun. Cooper is definitely not dull. The Special Agent reminds Hawk of a cat he had, lit on catnip. Just like Sassy.  
Hawk can hear Coop through the handset from across the room: “I'm astonished, Hawk!”  
“He's astonished.” Harry says, beaming at Hawk, all nervousness evaporated.  
From the phone: “Hi, Hawk!”  
A sage nod, “Hello Agent Cooper.”  
“I would very much enjoy to throw a throwing axe, Harry. I can't think of a more pleasurable way to spend an afternoon than improving the practice of a skill among friends. Thank you for thinking of me. Man oh man. Harry! I'm going to need directions to your home. I have my pen... Hit me. And Harry? Be specific about the landmarks.”  
“I will, Coop." Harry breathes deeply, "Take the Great Northern Highway to Sparkwood and turn right. You'll pass Frost Avenue and Church Lane. Turn right on Falls. You'll pass the Gazebo on your left before crossing Highway Twenty-One. Cross Main and Snow then turn right, south, on Lynch Road heading out of town. About twenty minutes, you'll see some laurels. Be ready to turn left after the big willow tree. That's my driveway.”  
“Left being east.”  
“Right. If you hit Tanner Road you've gone too far. That's it.”  
“Big Ed's Gas Farm is on Tanner,” Cooper states.  
“That's right. You could take Tanner down off Falls and come up on Lynch and that'd put the willow on your right, and turn _before_ it.”  
“But I wouldn't pass the laurel trees.”  
“No.”  
“Good thing I'm all topped up, Harry.” Audible grin.  
“Yeah. I'll, ah, put the coffee on.” Harry says and hears a snap.  
“Hot ticket!”  
“Okay, Coop. See you in about an hour.”  
“I'm on my way.”  
“Great.”  
“I'm thrilled.”  
“Okay.” Harry nods, smiling. “Good.”  
“Yes,” with breathy warmth.  
“We'll see ya soon.”  
Instead of goodbye, Cooper says, “Salmon!” and hangs up.  
“You better bring in some firewood.” Hawk says. Harry hangs up the receiver and looks over. Hawk is dusting a lampshade with a bandana.*  
  
“Good idea.”  
“I have 'em all day, Harry.”  
  
Harry bolts out to the woodpile.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*color of bandana is unspecified  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. ash

  
  
  
  
  
Cooper grasps the shaft of the throwing axe.  
“Mmm. Harry. Did you call me out here under false pretenses?” Honey tone, half-smile, dancing eyes.  
Harry passes inspection by staying as still as a photograph. All the time to prep did well to settle him.  
  
Harry says, “Nope. True pretenses. I do have salmon.”  
  
Cooper sets his topped-up coffee mug down on a flat rock. He declares the verdict.  
“Fellas! We all know... this axe is perfectly balanced.”  
Cooper looks at the stump, squaring his shoulders. His right foot moves behind the heel of his left as he drops the hand holding the axe to hip-level. Looks down and closes his eyes.  
Waits for something.  
He lifts his head and the axe, opens his eyes on the target and sends it there with a graceful uncoiling.  
Cooper chose as his target, the spot where the deeply grooved Ash bark had peeled from the silver wood in a vertical strip. Dark and light on either side of the axe head. Harry and Hawk nod their appreciation.  
Hawk starts across the clearing to retrieve the axe.  
He brings it back.  
  
Hawk, longstanding Timber Games Champion, sends it wheeling home natural as breathing.  
“High bar.” Harry says. He saunters to the Ash stump.  
Once there, Harry sees Hawk's throw is a match for Coop's.  
It's up to him to nestle or lose face.  
Harry lifts the handle to free the axe from the wood.  
Cooper smiling for him as he walks back, Harry soaks it up.  
He stands between Hawk and Coop. Jangles the short axe handle on his fingertips so the heft bounces into the sweet spot. Harry closes his fingers. The woken meld in his muscle memory assures like his favored football lace.  
Two steps back.  
The slice in the stump looms in his focus and Harry pitches the axe.  
“Nice!” Coop says, simultaneous with its flawless sink.  
Hawk catches their glance at each other, Coop beaming ten thousand watts and Harry: tiny nod, tiny smile.  
  
Cooper marches to the stump, breezy in his open suit jacket. Harry glances at Hawk an unspoken gladness. Hawk's smile crinkles his eyes, phantom wink.  
They watch Coop again.  
  
At the stump, Cooper levers the axe by lifting with his legs. It pries free with a squall.  
“Deep!”  
Coming back, he smiles at the guys, “Is it always this gorgeous in March, Harry?”  
“Sometimes we get lucky, Coop.” Harry says.  
  
Coop lines up and incorporates the heft-jangling bounce Harry used. His eyes flare at the stump and this time his left foot angles behind his right heel when he turns his throwing arm behind his body like a matador. Hawk and Harry realize the ante has been upped because Cooper is throwing lefty now.  
The axe comes up from his side and Cooper's fluid twist-toss lands the weapon in the cleft in the stump.  
Cooper clears his throat.  
“Yeah,” Harry says, turning his admiration on Coop to find him paled, the sun beclouded.  
What happened to the joy boy.  
Recheck the stump, --the strike??  
Nope. Still perfect.  
Harry's eyes narrow, flicking to Hawk. _Y_ _ep-_ Tommy caught it too, grim as a tombstone.  
  
Between them, Coop: no expression. Face front.  
  
Hawk locks eyes with Harry before moving away to get the axe.  
  
Cooper flattens his lips and resets his feet. He rolls a wan smile at Harry's prying gaze, shying the eye contact.  
Soft: “Coop?”  
Cooper swallows.  
His cheeks pull his thinned lips into a hung smile so phony that Coop immediately hides it with a ruse of brushing away an itch with his knuckle. Flicks his big soft eyes at Harry and quick-away again with a minuscule head shake.  
They watch Hawk pull the axe and confirm what they already know, “It's good.”  
  
Hawk returns. They bookend Cooper, closer.  
  
Hawk throws again after a bare nod from Coop and the axe chunks the wedge.  
“Like a magnet.” Cooper says, _sotto voce._  
Harry heads stump-ward, keeping the tone light, “Never fails.”  
Nonchalant, Hawk: “Not under scrutiny, bud.”  
Just a cool thing a cool guy would say about skills.  
Except for the _blatant chin dig_ Hawk aims at Coop, bird-dogging him for Harry's scrutiny! Thank god he's walking away.  
Cooper's mouth pops open: _Betrayal!  
_ Hawk tips Bookhouse Boys Signal as if his Showdown Eyes needed extra indicating. _  
_Cooper quickdraws BookBoys-! with wince, “Guh.” _ _Dammit._  
_ Hawk sees like a scalpel, head-toe, head-toe, squint: _You ain't right!  
_ Coop signals: __Play it off, nevermind!__ with a palm-down wave-away. _  
_Hawk flaps a hand: _ _No Play.__ Hawks pecks his face at him again with set mouth: __What's wrong with you!_  
_ Dale twitches zipped lips at him, tips of teeth flash: __Mind your own__ _ ** _bzznizz._  
**_ Hawk drops the non-verbal bit to say: “You don't look good.” _  
_Coop cuts eyes to check that Harry didn't hear him. The clearing sways. He closes his eyes. _ _I fucked up, okay._  
_ “Well.” Cooper says. Sweet Harry is heading back with the axe. _  
_“Well what.” Hawk stays low-toned. _  
_Slow blink. Cooper smiles greenly. Tells Hawk: “I don't look _well.”  
_ Hawk face. _  
_The Deputy says, “I'm tellin.” _  
_Through gritted teeth, fast: “Don't you tattle on me-!” _  
_Hawk, loud: “You haven't touched your coffee, Cooper. Gettin cold?!”  
Dale's lips prime a little 'o' to mouth _'why'_ at Hawk. Cooper sets his jaw. _  
__  
_Harry's big warm hand on his shoulder wobbles him, “What's up, Coop?” _  
  
_Well Sheriff! I'm coated with frost under my suit and can't breathe, can't move. Feels like I've been shot point-blank all over again, no lines no waiting.  
Very dizzy. Wild with dizzy.  
Have some serious reserves regarding my intelligence quotient and capacity for making rational decisions. I am disappointed. And I am embarrassed.  
But I am not big on advertising my personal _business._  
I could, however, offer some advice for your consideration, Harry: it might be prudent to dissuade your deputy from making apt inferences about the direction your personal scrutiny should take in your off-duty hours. Because I'm not a mystery for him to solve and I will be FINE. _  
  
_Dale can't answer. Piddly glare at Hawk: _Not cool.  
_ Dale says, “Fine.”  
Hawk crosses his arms.  
Harry echoes, “Fine?”  
Pins & needles sensation all over his face. It's pleasant. “Yes?”  
Harry bites his bottom lip and pooches it out.  
That Lucky Lefty throw. Coop would bet big big money that he will vomit very soon. Draws a little circle in the air in front of his belly.  
The signal stumps Harry (credit to their misdirection). But it clues Hawk, “Ohh no. We gotta call Doc Hayward out here, Harry. The ribs!” He jogs toward the house.  
 _“Man...!”_ Dale moans.  
“I'll be back with whiskey!” Hawk calls.  
“Fair enough,” Coop concedes breathlessly.  
The world grows harshly-bright and bleached out, Dale blinks at the ground. It would be smart to sit down before he passes out but. . . the ground doesn't make sense.  
Harry looks at Coop, drops the axe to reach for him, grip his shoulder and lift his slack face. "Coop? Cooper."  
A very long moment holding his cold cheek and searching his unfocused, dilated eyes.  
Lots of firm blinks bring the world back in focus. "...Almost."  
Harry pats Dale's cold-sweat beaded forehead with his bandana.  
Cooper, “It'll rust...”  
"Not for a while Coop. I'll get it in a sec." Harry's alarm simmers, ebbs as he searches Coop's eyes.  
Dale shakes his head to clear it, the heavy-pulse throb in the occipital area of his skull is not an unpleasant sensation. "Mm. Blood pressuredid. Did a woopdee-woo. Coffee."  
Harry takes his hand off Coop's shoulder and pauses. Ready to catch him. Dale swallows.  
“Coffee's down here, Coop.” Harry stoops for the rawhide sheathe bag, puts the axe in it and loops it on his belt in a flash. He snatches up Cooper's moose mug.  
Harry's big warm hands around Dale's, hugging the mug. “I'm here.”  
“Harry...” Coop drinks some cool coffee, it tastes very good and staves off the dizziness. Coop tests some deeper breaths, nope, ow, just little sips of air, only.  
“Coop.” Harry is trending toward stricken now, cradling Coop's elbows. “I'm sorry, I forgot, I didn't--”  
“I forgot too, Harry. I spoiled the day.”  
Harry shakes his head.  
“That was really fun.” Dale pouts.  
“I had fun, too, Coop.” Harry smiles.  
"You throw very well, Harry."  
"Thanks. You. You were--" _gorgeous._  
"I like to throw stuff."  
"Well you're good at it."  
Cooper bathes Harry in a beautiful smile. Harry's tide of breath is stopped by the gems of Dale's eyes under his glossy lashes. Green rings flecked with red and amber near the pupils. His lips do the subtle smile-pout that looks like a kiss. Holding his hands around Dale's, Harry brings the mug up to those lips.  
Cooper finishes the coffee, “Fortifying."  
Harry takes the moose mug and sets it on the ground. “I'll get this later.”  
Harry Truman stands up, close, careful not to brush against Cooper's ribs but wanting, needing to hold him.  
Harry takes Dale's hands again. He feels some hesitation in Cooper's touch, Dale withdrawing...  
Harry says, “Oh. Sorry.”  
“No...” Cooper drags his palms on Harry's sleeves. “Am clammy. It's gross.”  
Cooper feeds his dried palms into Harry's hands again. “There.”  
Harry chuckles.  
  
Almost close enough to kiss, they radiate good information to each other: gladness and gratitude for the other; relief.  
Coop's lips do that little air kiss again when their gazes blossom. Harry wonders if that's habit or on purpose. Because he likes it. Either way, good.  
Dale is soothed by the way Harry searches every inch of his face, the softness in his eyes for him, finding everything well. Finding him good. The naked caring in Harry's alert attention to his pain amazes him. Love is painted all over Harry's face and it hurts to look directly into it. But Dale Cooper is brave.  
  
"Harry." Cooper says, allowing pain to color his tone, “I do not want Doctor.” Much less effortful than saying that I declare that I wish to refuse medical attention.  
Harry opens his mouth, looks to the side.  
“No Doctor, Harry.”  
Harry licks his lips, presses them together. Meets his Dale's eyes again. Harry says, “Coop.” with a flavor of firmness in his voice suggesting that Harry's real sorry about this but he might have to put his foot down.  
Dale fans him with lashes. Blinks again, s l o w.  
Air kiss.  
“You _do_ know what you're doing,” Harry says, sly.  
“Do not try to solve this.”  
Small laugh, Harry looks down, bites his bottom lip again. Cooper's eyebrows furrow, ugnh this bashful cowboy.  
Cooper brings his arms up to rest on Harry's shoulders. This dear Harry Truman is as gentle as a smart doggie with a kitten climbing all over him, watching him everywhere at once. He presses a hand to Dale's upper back, and self-consciousness wheedles at Cooper for two reasons, he knows Harry can feel his ribs and is hesitating just because they are ribs, no matter how far removed from the trouble-rib. And self-conscious with himself, (am I too bony?) wishing he could flex his shoulder muscles.  
Definitely no flexing.  
  
Harry handles him delicately, constantly checking his face for assurance as he attempts to hold Dale.  
“Those ribs don't hurt, that's nice.” Coop looks down, his hand floating down between them to show Harry where.  
Harry watches his fine, pale hand paw the air and takes it so Cooper may illustrate on himself, pressing it under the arc of his own ribs. “Here?”  
“Right here. That's right. Harry, this is the bone-to-cartilage junction. This floating rib is moored entirely in cartilage up front, relative to the other ribs." His hand slides up on Harry's chest and presses him. "These have fused-bone junctions up here, feel?”  
Harry sighs, “Yeah.”  
Cooper splays his fingers on Harry's chest, “And bands of muscle threaded all through the ribs for support. Cartilage takes so long to heal. In order of most rapid- to slowest-healing tissue, ah, _flesh,_ muscle, tendon, bone, ligaments-”  
“Is cartilage last?”  
“Yes.”  
“Oh.”  
“Average estimation... ten to twelve weeks. Dizzy again.”  
Harry brings Dale's head to rest in the hollow of his neck. His forehead is cold.  
  
“Harry?”  
“Take it easy, Coop.”  
“Don't tell Albert.”  
Harry's eyebrows tick up. Long pause. He purses his lips. His eyes drift around in cogitation. Not that Harry would go out of his way to tell Albert anything, but... Harry breathes in the smoky-jasmine scent of Cooper's hair, smoothing his hands over Dale's shoulder-blades.  
Harry says, “Didn't Albert jet back to Seattle today?”  
“Yes.”  
“Jettin around.”  
Harry feels butterfly kisses in the hollow of his neck.  
He swallows.  
“Okay, Coop, I'll bite,” Coop's cheek rounding in a smile on Harry's collarbone, “What don't you want me to tell Albert.”  
Two starter-breaths before mumbling into Harry's neck: “Don't tell Albert I came out to your house and shredded all my collagen repair webs I worked so hard on growing in my bone-cartilage juncture. Set it all the way back. He'll be mean. And I deserve it. None too happy with myself, either.”  
“Ohh hey, hey now...”  
“Don't laugh at me.”  
“Coop. I'll bet you're a barrel of laughs all lit up on painkillers.”  
Little growl.  
“Have you ever been on a Whiskey Walk?”  
“...Is it anything like a Sake' Stroll?”  
Harry pets the back of Cooper's head. Cups his neck. When Harry's fingertips play in his hairline there, Dale sighs and trembles against his chest. He moves his nose and lips into Harry's sensitive hollow. Coop's little puffing breaths there making him feel high. And hot. Harry's mouth falls open. He swallows.  
Harry fondles Cooper's velvety earlobe.  
Dale Cooper plants his lips on Harry's neck. They wobble on Harry's feet.


	3. ivory

  
  
  
  
  
Dale feels Harry's hot body, lean and strong, respond to his lips' touch. The thrill of being branded with Harry's erection cramps his belly.  
  
Cooper opens his mouth to taste Harry's neck. And Dale, expecting a peppery flavor to match the spicy scent, is beguiled by an understated, herbaceous-floral spirit. His eyes pop open, woah.  
And here, finally. After seeing, hearing, touching Harry and smelling Harry, it is this last, requited sensual perception of Harry that socks Coop's heart home for good and all.  
For a pure fact beyond dispute. Silent, monolithic gravity.  
  
I love Harry Truman.  
  
Dragging relaxed lips across Harry's flesh, claiming the scent between his teeth again and again.  
Nothing would be better than saying it.  
"I love Harry Truman." But he buries it in a lilting sigh in Harry's neck before it's all the way out, just a whimper.  
Harry tickles the electric spot where his spine disappears into his hairline and plants kisses on the top of his head. Whispering there.  
Cooper could guess and believe Harry has said it back.  
And instead of analyzing this, sways his hips forward so Harry will feel his throbbing need, too.  
Dale indulges another restrained thrust, chasing satisfaction. "Oooh..."  
Harry grips Cooper's hip with one hand and Dale clings with both, sinking his fingers into Harry's sculpted trapezius muscles. The corners of Coop's Dictaphone press into Harry's pecs.  
  
Cooper fully gorges on Harry's neck.  
Harry's mouth swings open. These smooth lips locking on him.  
Sealing.  
Sucking.  
Licking.  
Ghostly delicate nibbles.  
Harry grunts.  
Harry's other hand comes down to circle Cooper's hips, massaging the bundles of muscle and fine slopes of bone.  
When Coop blows cool air on the spot he's teasing, Harry cups his round bottom and dips his head to suckle Dale's neck, tit for tat.  
Coop's head falls with a stifled whimper and Harry roils his kisses upon satiny skin.  
“Harry...”  
“Oh Coop...”  
 _“Harry!”  
_  
Truman squeezes Coop's dense, curvy cheeks and plunges his tongue into Dale's ear, eliciting a gasp of delight.  
One of Dale's hands plays and twines in Harry's curls while the other drifts down Harry's back as slow as a dream, grasps his bottom, hard. Coop grinds their cocks together.  
"Yeah Coop."  
Dale puffs out tiny groans as Harry nibbles and makes out with his ear, kneading his buttcheeks. Harry hauls them even tighter together. He whispers on Dale's wet ear, triggering a shiver, "Howbout you put Diane in my back pocket, sugar."  
 _"Yeah,_ Harry..." He fumbles between them, "That's ex-ex-- uhn, that's--", Coop is stuttering, gasping on his words, and instead of saying 'that's an excellent idea,' inadvertently saying "sex" over and over.  
Harry takes the hard little plastic case from between them and pockets it. He kisses his way over Cooper's cheekbone to the tip of his nose, and detours to wrap his lips completely around Coop's chin, winning a spark of a laugh. Harry kisses his dimple and meanders tiny kisses all over Coop's face. His eyelids. The dark smudges of his brows. His fine temple, luxuriating on his way to lavish his other ear. Harry's tongue delves there, he huffs on Dale's sensitive, wettened skin. Rolling the little lip of flesh on the rim of Dale's ear between his upper teeth and bottom lip.  
Coop all but vibrates against him, delirious. Singing a groaning and gorgeous pornographic note. Cooper dissolves, Harry finds himself supporting his full weight in his arms.  
  
Distracted by an insistent twinging _pingping_ from his ribs, he curls into Harry's embrace with a grunt. Baring his teeth out of Harry's line-of-sight, Cooper begs in a half-desperate half-furious growl, “I want you, Harry.”  
  
Harry leaves his ear with a parting lick and catches the stricken look on his face. “You got me, darlin.” Harry ravishes his mouth and Cooper whines, opening to him.  
  
Cooper sucks Harry's tongue and pants inside the kiss. Quivering, nearly twitching with spasms of tense and slackness. The muscles in his ass jumping in Harry's hands, firm and tight, densely-squishy, and flexed again.   
  
Harry swallows the nectar of Dale's mouth, “Mmmm.” A taste evolving from diluted black coffee river-stone-smoothness to something sweeter and more intoxicating than honey wine.   
  
He licks Dale's soft, pillowy lips. Drinks of him again.  
  
Coop moans 'yes' into Harry's mouth, living wholly in the utter sedation of Harry's kiss. Levitating...  
  
Harry nuzzles their noses together and slows the ardor of the kiss. In Harry's arms, Dale still feels cold under his suit, everywhere but the iron rod of his cock.  
  
Dale awakening dazedly in the absence of Harry's kisses. Harry, jolted by those trembling eyes drugged with need.  
  
Harry feels heat baking out of his own face and can't help but notice how pale is this stunning beauty. Lips and eyelids touched with the baby-blush pink of a precious seashell.  
  
  
There's no other thing for Harry Truman to do for Dale Cooper except than to do right by him.  
  
  
He takes one hand away from Cooper's round bottom to hold the side of his face. Coop closes his eyes and parts his wetted lips for the pad of Harry's thumb.  
  
Harry says, “We gotta get you back home,” with a tender growl.  
“Yes Harry,” pearly teeth grazing his digit.  
Harry kisses Dale's cool, damp forehead. Dale tries inclining for another kiss and Harry pulls his head back to meet his eyes. Coop holds Harry's hand to his cheek, taking his thumb back with teeny bites.  
Harry parts from Dale's bottom with a little patting spank and loops that arm around his chest. “I'm going to take care of you, Coop." Harry sees the swooning, dopey-gratitude pleasure this gives his beloved and melts right back.  
Harry peeks under Coop's half-lidded lashes and summons gentle authority to state in his best I'll-brook-no-arguement tone, "Doctor Hayward's gonna look at you and we're gonna do what needs doing.” Nodding into Dale's face.  
  
Grinning, “Yes sir.” Coop nods back. “You're in charge, Harry,” with a breathy groan.  
Letting a small smile peek, “You're going to take your medicine, Cooper.”  
Staring at Harry's mouth, whispers, “I'll take it.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. oyster

  
  
  
  
  
Pink sunset shading into lavender twilight here under the trees.  
Hawk meets them them on their way back to Harry's house. He has a little pint bottle of Harry's best whiskey for Coop.  
Coop declines with his oath-palm.  
Harry ticks his eyebrows up at Coop.  
And Coop takes the bottle. One swig. Starts re-corking it, but-  
A subtle shift of Harry's head.  
Coop takes another pull of fire-water and corks the bottle, hands it to Harry.  
Hawk's eyes are sly. He says, “I have good news and bad news, guys.”  
Cooper smiles like a dopey shark.  
“What's the bad news, Hawk.” Harry says.  
“The Doc is out. Not at home or Calhoun Memorial.”  
Coop, boyish brat voice, “But what's the bad news, Hawk.” Kitten tongue peeking.  
Harry huffs. Sheriff mode engaged, “Give me the good news, then.”  
Hawk deadpans him.  
Cooper grinning open-mouthed.  
  
They, in unison: “It's the same news, Harry.”  
  
A beat.  
  
“Fuck you guys.”  
Cooper's mouth makes a little 'o.'  
Hawk nods.  
  
  
“Oo it smells good in here!” Cooper declares on walking into Harry's home. Like wood and apples!  
His face sprinkles joy all over the room.  
Harry beams with pride.  
Hawk stands in the doorway behind them, “There's salmon in the fridge. I'll call if I can track Hayward down.”  
“Good man,” Truman says.  
“That won't be necessary, Hawk.”  
Harry says, “Coop.”  
Coop says, “Harry.”  
Hawk, trying to slide away.  
Cooper says, “Hawk! Hold it right there. Doctor Hayward will be able to do nothing for me beyond scolding me for ignoring his initial orders to rest, recommending _more_ rest, and prescribing pain medication. His presence here is not necessary.” Declares at volume: “I am not even bleeding.”  
Harry, thin-lipped.  
Cooper continues in a reasonable tone, “I intend to observe his directive, at my discretion, and I _do not_ require a prescription for pain medication.” He turns to a frowning Harry, “Because I already have that prescription. I even filled it, Harry.” Cooper tosses keys to Hawk. “It's in my trunk, white paper bag on the left.”  
Hawk goes.  
“Cooper.”  
“Harry.” Coop claps a hand on his shoulder. “Stop teasing me and bust out the fish.”  
Air kiss. Their faces inch closer.  
Coop initiates an Eskimo kiss.  
Harry's lips reappear twisted to one side, betraying a smile.  
“Go get the salmon so I can give the chef his dues before he leaves. Then you can find out what other surprises I have in my trunk.”  
Harry shakes his head.  
“You think what you want, Truman, but I _do_ have a present for you in my trunk.”  
  
  
Hawk brings in the drug store bag and Cooper's keys. He's halfway out the door again but stops, seeing Harry unwrap the salmon in front of Coop. With awed countenance, Dale selects a piece as if handling a diamond from a jeweler's cloth. His eyes close when he places it in his mouth and his teeth fall in to the savory delicacy.  
 _“Mmmn!”_ His open hand floats up, “It... this. . . mmm! . . . words. . .” Cooper's hand snaps a thumbs up.  
Harry stirs at the sounds of ecstasy Cooper makes.  
Hawk, not immune either, looks at the floor to mumble, “See you at the station g'night.”  
Automatic, “Night, Hawk.”  
Cooper moans an adieu.  
Hawk does a tight-pants walk to his Jeep.  
  
  
“What a stunning sunset, Harry.”  
  
Harry puts flame to the kindling under the birch logs in his fireplace. When he turns back to Dale he is warmed to see Coop is watching him instead of the lightshow outside. The aroma of cured Birch is one of Harry's supreme favorites.  
If Cooper could make any positive mention of this scent at all... that would be the best.  
He debates an urge to go ahead and blurt, "These are m'best logs Coop!"  
It's too soon.  
  
Harry snags the little pharmacy bag on his way over to him. Harry begins to twist the cap on the bottle and Cooper covers his hands with one of his own.  
“I believe this medication is not to be mixed with alcohol, Harry.”  
“That's how you're gonna play it huh.”  
“I haven't even read those directions but I know what they say.”  
“Let me see.” Harry plies Coop's hand with his fingers, lacing with them and reading the bottle. He says, “'Consume with food' . . .and what's this? 'Do not argue with the Sheriff you put in charge.' Hm.”  
It's supposed to be playful, but Coop, reserved, doesn't return the eye contact. Harry sets the bottle on the table and holds Dale's arms.  
Harry says, “Hey,” so he will look at him. “You got some heavy machinery you have to operate or what?” Good sign Coop smiles a little, Harry continues, “Because if you don't want to do something, Cooper, I don't want to make you.” A beat. Dale blinks.  
  
Over and over, Harry is knocked out by his beauty. That unfocused concentration look Cooper gets when he's piecing mysteries together: little lips parting, eyebrows knitting the tiniest bit. And then softening into Harry's gaze, wowed.  
  
A processing of what Harry has said is taking place.  
/ _Harry doesn't want to make me do what I don't want to do  
_ That's not the hard part to understand.  
Of course Harry is good.  
Coop already knew that.  
The hard part is unpacking the competing wants from inside; acknowledging the disparity of being desperate to do anything that would make Harry like him. The constant compulsion of having to be Perfect.  
Belief is back-bitten.  
 _/he does love me  
/only because he doesn't know me  
_For Dale Cooper, a fear masquerades as a certainty: that he isn't worth loving.  
At several different instances in his life have people he loved dearly, as well as total strangers, wounded and eviscerated him with an acidic chestnut that anyone as pretty as himself must have an ugly, rotten soul.  
They were mean _/they were right_  
It has taken a LOT of self-work for Dale Cooper to achieve the current state of being _okay_ with Dale Cooper; he doesn't love himself. He's not great. Not a piece of shit anymore, but hey, _I'm okay._  
That's nice.  
That's a big deal.  
And it would be greedy to ask for more.  
He acknowledges his capacity for greed. Greed for Harry's love.  
And how wonderful Harry S. Truman's true love would be.  
Gaining it by deceit would be wrong and he would be unworthy to have it.  
No tricks.  
And maybe try to stop hiding.  
Damn. _  
  
_Harry Truman waits for Coop to come back to him. Harry begins to say: “Cooper. I . . . I was-”  
 _so worried.  
I was scared._  
It's difficult work to get this out.  
Harry nods with the slow words, “I was scared, Coop.” Harry swallows. “Seeing you in pain... like that... out there...”  
Harry shakes his head, his sweet face troubled and sincere. “It did all this . . . _stuff.”_ His open hand makes a round motion in front of his gut.  
Cooper's bottom lip tucks in.  
  
Harry says, “Let's sit down, honeybee.” With a minute squeeze on Coop's left arm, “May I help you?”  
Coop smiles and lifts that arm for Harry, who moves to his side and supports him as they sit on the couch. They go slow and it still hurts and Dale can't stop himself from stifling a cry of pain into a choked grunt.  
Harry unpacks his pockets after settling Cooper as gently as he can. Coop's tape recorder, the pint of whiskey, the axe in its sheath bag from his belt loop. The items ring the bottle of pain medication on the table in front of them. Coop, looking at that little orange bottle with the white cap, considering.  
“Do you have any fantasies, Coop?”  
Snapped alert, looking at Harry.  
Pause.  
Deep, “Yes.”  
Harry smiles. He weaves his hands together between his knees. He speaks slowly, “My fantasy came true today, Cooper. I'm a really lucky guy. And I'd be lyin if I said I didn't want more.”  
Cooper waits for him to say something more.  
He reaches for Harry's hands just as Harry stands up, walks out of the room. Cooper belatedly stops himself from turning to watch him “ah-!”, eyes automatically falling on the little bottle of pain pills as he winces. Wrinkles his nose at them.  
Little shithead pills. Dicks.  
When Harry returns Cooper blurts, “I don't trust 'em, Harry! They're too tiny!"  
When Coop takes his narrowed eyes off of them and looks at Harry, he sees the pie.  
  
Harry holding pie.  
  
“Is that apple?!”  
“Yes it is.” Harry lays the golden pie before him, bonking the hateful bottle out of center stage.  
“Harry. You baked this?”  
Harry settles into the couch cushion beside Dale with utmost care to not disturb his balance.  
“I did bake this pie.”  
“. . . Wow!”  
“What were you sayin about too tiny, Coop?”  
Coop points past the pie. “Pills! They're _this_ big.” Cooper pinches his index finger and thumb together. “And they do things to something _this_ big.” He flaps that hand, splay-fingered hand in an encompassing gesture at his own body. Little head shake. “Too much power. I don't like it.”  
Harry chuckles. Mimics the cage-hand gesture at Dale's body, “Something this big?”  
“It's true.”  
Harry nods, “Yeah.”  
“I'm glad we agree.” Looking at the pie. Side-glancing at Harry's clasped hands. Back at the pie.  
Coop: “I'll have _one.”_  
Harry reaches across the table.  
Coop immediately re-negotiates: “ _Half_ of one.”  
“That's fair, Coop.” Harry unscrews the cap on the pain medication.  
“And more whiskey. But just a little. A _smidgen._ I think it helped.”  
“Sure. Do you want coffee?”  
“Yes, please.”  
“Ice cream?”  
“Oh my, yes.”  
“Okay.” Harry squeezes his knee. “Be right back.”  
“And I should also like to consume a half of a gallon of water, Harry.”  
“. . .Okay.”  
  
  
  
Cooper consumes: one half of a pain pill, half a shot of whiskey, three cups of coffee, five tall glasses of water, half an apple pie and six scoops of vanilla bean ice cream.  
Harry consumes one of each of all but the medicine, and indulges a second scoop of vanilla bean to accompany his slice of pie.  
“Harry...” Deeply sated. “That was tremendous.”  
“...Yeah.” Harry pets the back of Dale's head. Trying to memorize every detail of every point of perfection of his recipe that Coop enumerated.  
  
The crust. A thousand times, crust! So flaky, So Crisp! the hundreds of perfect paper layers like filo dough, buttery! egg? honey glaze?! this is unsalted butter don't try to fool me. split-cook method innit! you fried it! Two types of crust?? why won't you tell me. what could it be and the nutty undercurrent, is that pecan?! PrawLEENE?! the tartness THA CRUSHABILITY of the apples, there's pear in there isn't there! that Grain, though! Why aren't more fruit grainy-textured like pear? All these complex flavors co-mingling, co-habitating, and yet this pie, Harry, STELLAR in its simplicity. The real star of the pie shines through, Harry.  
The crust!  
And the fruit!  
All of that moaned in a stream-of -consciousness Ode To This Pie. It's toasted. I'm toasted. I feel no pain.  
And let him make the case why Vanilla Bean is the superior back-up singer for pie, as opposed to French Vanilla. Not to deride French Vanilla. But he likes the little specks. And and it doesn't compete. The egg in French makes it compete. Nobody wants that.  
  
Harry's cheeks hurt from grinning with him. At him.  
  
Coop finally leans back into Harry's chest.  
"I know what it was, Harry. You smoked the pie on that aromatic wood. That's why it was the best thing I have ever tasted. Not the flavor but the scent. You wood-smoked it."  
"I love you, Coop."  
"I love you. Harry. I love you so very much."  
"You're good. Coop."  
A very long time elapses before Coop says, "Thank you, Harry."  
  
“I am feeling better.”  
“Yeah? I'm glad, Coop.” Harry kisses the top of his head. “Well you go on and let me know what I can do to make you comfortable.”  
“Okay.” Cooper strokes Harry's thigh.  
Right away, “I would appreciate your help in getting undressed, Harry.”  
“You got it, Coop.”  
Sliding the knot on Dale's tie and trailing it away. Undoing the button in the small cup between Cooper's fine clavicle. Harry lets the tip of his ring finger rest there after he uncovers it. Harry says, “The angel cup.”  
Dale lulled beyond the ability to inform Harry that 'the angel cup' is a far, far more beautiful and felicitous name for this intimate spot than is the clunky medical term.  
Jugular notch. Between the Clavicular notches. Blechh. Like a mouthful of wooden blocks.  
But Harry says it is his _angel cup._  
He breathes, “I like that, Harry.”  
Harry's fingers dip under his shirt. Another button, undone.  
Harry breathes softly on his ear, unbuttoning his shirt. Coop parts his thighs to lend his arousal better room to expand and be noticed, reclining into Harry's warm chest and snuggling his arms closer around himself.  
Harry kisses his neck, so softly. Dale feels Harry's lashes whisper on his earlobe.  
“I would... I would like to take a shower or bath with you, Harry. I would prefer both.”  
“We can do that, Coop. I would like that too.”  
Harry slides the open shirt down over Dale's shoulders and strokes his upper arms.  
“Your hands feel good, Harry.”  
“You feel good to touch.”  
Sighing in Harry's gentle attention. “I have a present I want to show you.”  
“You do?” Kissing his cheekbone. "That's very sweet of you, Coop. What could it be?"  
“Well. I thought it was for me, but I was thinking of you when I bought it.”  
Into Dale's neck, “You were thinkin of me, honeybee?” Happy to see the pleasure the use of little pet names give his sweetheart.  
“I think of you very often, Harry.”  
“I think about you, too, Coop." Wetting his lips, "I was late to work today thinkin about you.”  
Coop's lips slip open, watching Harry's mouth. He swallows. “This morning was hard for me too.”  
“Hard huh...”  
Cooper groans, “Oh _my_ yes.”  
“I'm sorry darlin.”  
“I'm not.”  
“...What did you do about it, Coop.”   
Cooper says “I . . .” and looks into Harry's eyes. Dale moves his hand with deliberate slowness so Harry will watch as he puts it on himself, touching, pressing on his bound cock.  
Cooper sighs through quivering teeth.  
Harry shifts in his seat and breathes heavily on Dale's neck, watching over his shoulder.  
Without taking his lips away, kissing the question, “And what did I do?”  
“You...” Dale smiles and fans his lashes. Delicate bite of his bottom lip. Harry looks into his heat-kissed face. Coop is trembling-hot in his arms. Harry trails his fingers on his arm, ghosts his fingertips under the strap of his undershirt and across his chest.  
Dale whispers, “You untied me.”  
“. . .Yup.”  
“I liked...um... I had to...” Dale spends a moment battling his shyness to share this morning's fantasy with its star. Cooper looks down at his hand on himself. Closes his eyes and gulps.  
Harry nods so slowly that a bird this close would not take wing at the motion. He gentles Dale's shirt-sleeves off of one wrist and then the other, stroking these slim bones with his thumbs. Cradling them in his open palms.  
“I'm glad I was there, Coop.”  
Dale meets Harry's eyes, and Harry's heart lurches with sweet agony for the naked affection there. How timid Dale's trust. Harry transfixed by these eyes... they flicker.  
Dale Cooper gives Harry one pure, vulnerable kiss. Transcending 'soft.'   
Soft is Earth. Tender is Earth.  
But this is the kiss of Heaven.  
Pure and real.  
Salt of his own tears in the tide.  
  
Cooper resumes quietly.  
Covering and somehow protecting his erection more than pleasuring it.  
Harry finds it difficult to watch Cooper's face, at first.  
With his chin resting on Dale Cooper's shoulder, Harry closes his eyes and communes with his heart, instead.  
And the effect of Dale's words upon it.  
  
 _“Harry.  
You probably didn't know I really wished...  
that it was you who tied me up.  
I tried to make it you and it never works.  
Oh Harry.  
And I...  
I really liked...” _  
Cooper presses himself and sighs.  
 _“I liked how you couldn't stand it anymore...  
I could see it.  
You.  
Having to watch me with someone else...”  
_Whisper, _“Taken...  
It was driving you crazy!  
Your face, Harry...  
But I... I had to make believe it was you so I could even stand it.   
I felt so dirty watching your face while someone else...  
they...  
they were rough with me... and I liked it."_

  
“They hurt you, Coop?" Harry says with gruff heat, sucking the pulsing vein under his lips. Watching Dale touch himself over his pants.  
“Yes.”  
“I _hated_ that.”  
“Until you made them disappear, I knew it was making you hot to watch me.”

Harry's teeth and hot breath on his ear, voice thick and dangerous. “It sure fuckin did.”  
Dale moans, high. Shuddering, he scrubs on himself through his pants with the flat of his palm. Cooper's hips flex, long thigh muscles rigid and delineated. “I could see you wanted to fuck me like that, Harry.”  
Harry's cock throbs, he growls, “You don't even know how much, baby."  
Harry grips Dale's thigh and tugs it, pulling it over his leg. Coop's socked foot immediately snakes around Harry's ankle. Harry rakes his nails up and down Dale's inner thigh.  
“Put your hand on my throat, Harry.” A sensual whine, _“Please?”_  
Before Harry's hand touches him, Coop whispers, “Don't squeeze. Pleasedon'tsqueeze.”  
“I won't, Coop.” Harry lays his hand across the base of Dale's throat, the tender filament structure boiling under his palm as if Dale's pulse were full of tiny speeding bubbles. “I won't squeeze, honey.”  
Dale's head falls back with a gasp.  
Cables of muscle jump under his hand.  
“Harry! Oh Harry!” He feels him swallow, the ridge of his Adam's Apple nudging down into his light grip. Harry spreads his fingers on the side of Cooper's neck.  
“Harry yes. Yes! I am. I'm— _Harry-!_ ”  
Harry kisses at Cooper's wide gasping mouth, staying clear of his gnashing teeth. Sucking his chin. Cooper turns his head to plead his singing ecstasy into Harry's face, all looming black pupils and dewed crimson flush, “I'm coming Harry! yes! I-I-I'm-ohfuck-! _Yes!!”_  
Squeezing his cock in the fork of his legs, thrusting his hips, grabbing into Harry's curls with his other hand to smoosh their faces together as he howls down Harry's throat.  
Harry kisses back as best as he is able, cooing affirmations, “Oh honey oh my god, I'm here baby.”  
Dale, senseless. “Don't stop oh Harry I like it please yes don't don'tstop! ughhn...”  
“I won't stop, Cooper, I got you honey.” Harry flips open Dale's belt and frees his ejaculating cock. Coop makes an amazing sound of tortured pleasure as Harry squeezes it and pumps him. Coop stutters out an amazing rush, “I am Harry yes Harry I'm still-- I'm still- I can- can don't stop oh please oh Harry _Harry fuck yes!!”_ Coop's arms clamp around Harry's shoulders as his cock seizes in Harry's fist, splurting come in an arc clear over the table. Cooper howls a pure note though his sinuses as his upper body bucks against Harry, knocking the wind out of him as his legs flex. Come tags Harry's neck, then his belly as Coop butts into him.  
“Wow, honey. You're so strong.”  
Coop moans, collapsing on him. Weak groan. “Noo.” Another contraction.  
“What?” Harry says, tactful not to laugh. “What do you mean 'no'?” Smoothing down spiked strands of his hair as the storm clears.  
“I was gonna tell you. *huff* _You're_ so strong. *pant* Harry.”  
“You want to say that?”  
“Yes...!”  
“And I stole it?”  
“Yeah....” He whines.  
“Oh okay. You can still tell me, Coop.”  
Faded, “okay.”  
Harry hugs Dale to his chest and brings their legs onto the couch so Coop may sprawl properly on top of him.  
Harry tries not to steal his air as he pets and soothes him with kisses. “Okay, Coop?”  
“I... fantastic. . .Too hot.”  
Harry goggles at his ceiling. “Yeah.”  
Weak: “Pour that... pour that water on my back. Please Harry.”  
He can barely reach it, Harry shifts to grasp the chilly glass of water on the coffee table. He lets the condensation on the side of the cold glass touch Coop's arm. “You want me to pour this on your back.”  
“Too hot.” Coop mumbles in his hair.  
“Just checkin.” Harry pours the entire glass across Dale's back, from his head to his ass. Most of it is absorbed by his rumpled shirt and pants and what does trickle onto Harry's face and sides is pleasantly cooling. He combs Dale's hair back into place all over again.  
Cooper sighs in satisfaction.  
“You still wanna take a bath with me, Coop?” Harry squeezes his smooshy butt.  
Drunk lips: “Aye definitely doo. Harreey.”  
“Good.”  
“...Be right there.”  
Harry gives him a minute. And another minute. Then begins to playfully wiggle his hips under Dale's, poking him with his boner. “Hey.  
Hey Coop.  
Springtime.  
...I'm ready to pollinate.”  
Cooper mutters, “Go ahead.”  
“Get up!”  
“I am.” Cooper kisses his forehead, smacks his lips on his eyelid, meets Harry's obliging mouth with a happy and lazy kiss. He does a push up and moves his knees up on either side of Harry's torso. Levers himself upright with a little grunt and plops his waterlogged butt on Harry's groin.  
“Ah- no! You brat!” Harry spanks his ass with one hand and squeezes it with the other.  
Coop bottom lip hidden under teeth.  
Harry sits up with Coop in his lap and shakes his head so his curls fluff out wild, “You're bad!”  
“What else.”  
“And you're in trouble!”  
“Not me, Harry.”  
“Yes huh.” Harry pokes at Coop's booty with a little thrust. “BIG trouble.”  
Harry turns with Cooper straddling him and sets his feet on the floor. He squeezes Dale's meaty butt and pretends a bite at his nip. Coop says “Gwah!” and giggles, shimmying on him.  
Harry chatters his teeth in Coop's face and is rewarded with a daring tongue diving right between his jaws. Harry sucks on this succulent, sweet tongue and stands up. Cooper's thighs grip his hips, he purrs into Harry's mouth, wrapping his arms around Truman's shoulders. “MMM you're so strong, Harry.”  
Harry starts walking toward the hall. Harry tug-of-wars his tongue as hard as he can suck it down his throat, he finally lets go, *POP!*  
Coop: “Wait wait, Harry. About face! I need that.” Pointing behind Harry's back.  
“What, Coop.” Harry turns them around and follows Cooper's grasping hand over to his cowboy hat on the coat-rack.  
“Yess.” Coop snatches it and sets it on Harry's curly head. He noses it up so he can kiss him beneath the brim. Coop squeezes his flanks with his thighs twice, “Gitalong, Sheriff Truman. I need a bath!”  
“Gonna hose ya off and shower too.”  
“Yep.”  
“Y'know Coop, I think branding is a cruel practice. But I got a patch I could give ya. Of the mushroom variety.”  
Cooper's pointy little tongue peeks through his smile.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. sandstone

  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry Truman finishes undressing Cooper here beside his copper bathtub with the shower warming up. Harry hugs his legs to help him step out of his pants and boxers. Cupping his calves as he slides his socks and garters off his feet... completely nude, now.  
Harry, still fully dressed, stands tall before him. His hands hook on his belt, so near the stiff erection tenting his khaki pants.  
In the shadow of the brim of his cowboy hat, Harry's eyes rove Dale's body with sweet, raw want. Coop feels his cock perk for Harry's gaze. Harry looks him in the eyes, watches his lips part. Shifts his head to look past him, taking in the back view in his mirror with a little smile. Teasing him with his hands just _takin' a break_ there on his belt.  
Coop tries to smile back back but his lips only twitch, his wide-wide eyes plain _disobeying_ command. This moment drips with the flavor of Dale's dirty daydreams.  
The flash of excitement of being this vulnerable. How much he needs Harry to touch him, wants Harry to grab him, Harry could take control, right now, take him--  
Dale's nerves arc. Coop squeezes his eyes shut and scoots into Harry's space reflexively, clutching his shirt, shuddering against him.  
“Ohh Coop.” Harry's big hands squeezing his hips, stroking up his spine. They kiss again, Coop already panting and squirming his body against him. Harry, absorbing and reciprocating with blissed-out, patient calm, awed by the severity of Dale's energy. Nitro.  
“Damn honey, you give me fever. Easy, Coop. Will you get--” Harry smiles to dodge these suddenly rabid lips, “get in this shower?”  
Dale clamps onto him, Harry can feel his rapid heartbeat through his shirt. Harry sees his own face in the mirror, a hint of disquiet above Dale's tensed back.  
  
Coop, hiding his face in the sanctity of Harry's neck, where he first kissed him, breathes a word between his teeth, less than a whisper, barely there.  
  
“What?”  
  
Harry waits, he feels Dale swallow. No response forthcoming, Harry nudges Dale's cheek with his nose to get him to look at him. "Honeybee?"  
Cooper's face comes up, but not his eyes.  
Harry does know what it was he whispered. Because he can read it; can feel it.  
 _Scared.  
_ “Hey.” Harry says, quiet. Gentle. “Honeycoop. Little heart. We're okay huh.”  
“...yeah.”  
Harry places his lips on Dale's eyelids, "We're okay." Cradling his head and reaching a towel, draping it on his smooth shoulders.  
Harry would ask what he needs, but Dale's body is telling him. Harry knows.  
  
Cooper just needs a minute.  
  
Coop's breath unlocks. His arm de-clamps from under Harry's shoulder and moves between their chests, his fingers rest on Harry's necklace, fingertips on his angel cup.  
“I just . . . get so excited.”  
Sure honey. That's all.  
“What do you need Coop.”  
A weariness around his eyes, wished away in a hard blink. He says, “I need _you._ Harry."  
  
Dale swallows, sweet smile. "Let me do this button.”  
Cooper does the button under Harry's necklace.  
Dale smiles, already edging away from that wan weariness, saying, “Now you get that one.”  
Harry does the next button on his shirt.  
  
Dale touches the skin of Harry's chest the done buttons have revealed.  
  
Light plays on his eyes. Coop says, “Just take it off, up.”  
Harry crosses his arms between them and pulls his shirt off over his head.  
Cooper catches his hat and brings the brim to his lips, brushing those dear buds against the felt as he favors Harry's bare chest with bright eyes.  
“Will you get in first?”  
“Yeah Coop.” Harry swings his leg up and into the tub. Coop reaches for him, laughing, “Wah-! we can take your boots off! Harry.”  
“Okay.”  
Harry swings his leg back over and sits on the rim of the copper bathtub. He pulls off the first boot and Coop pulls off the second after hanging Harry's stetson on the doorknob.  
Harry stands up and makes to step under the water again and is rewarded by Dale halting him, arms around his waist.  
  
“Oh pants, too?” Harry says.  
“Yes, pants!”  
  
Harry rests his hands on top of Dale's hands on his belt buckle.  
When Coop tilts up for a soft kiss and grips his belt, they unfasten it together.  
Cooper's hands dip under his waistband and rest on his hips, he moves closer to press his chest to Harry's side.  
Coop finally breaks the kiss and tugs down on his pants. Harry adjusts himself, handling his erection out of his boxers.  
Harry steps out of his pants, “I'm getting in first, Coop.”  
“Yeah Harry.” Heat in his voice, seeing the water sheen down Harry's back and high, firm butt.  
Harry smiles over his shoulder, “You come with me?”  
“Yes please.”  
Harry holds out his hand and turns to Dale as he steps in, too.  
  
Their bodies meet under the warm water. They revel in full skin-on-skin contact, gazing down at each other, smiling into kisses and hugging close.  
  
When Harry tilts his head back under the water, Cooper sinks both hands into his wetted curls and grinds their cocks together. Harry regards him under dripping lashes and and slides a bar of soap over Dale's buttcheeks.  
“Do you like that, Coop.”  
Dale nods with his mouth hanging open.  
“Do you want me to wash you?”  
He groans and licks water from Harry's lips. “Of-of course I do. Harry. Please.”  
Harry swipes the bar of soap over his own chest before hugging Dale against him to soap up his back and grope his ass. As he rolls his chest against Dale's to work up suds between them, Harry suddenly remembers, “Oh shit--shoot, Coop your rib! Damn it the damn junket.” Immediately holding his face, watchful.  
“No, Yeah, Harry. I'm fine.”  
“I'm sorry.”  
“It's okay.” The smile is reserved but real.  
“I didn't forget. Not til we got in here. I don't want to hurt-”  
“You're not hurting me, Harry.”  
“I don't want to.”  
“Don't- don't worry about it, Harry." DaIe draws a breath. "I won't lie, but, it really is better than it was. I _am_ used to it. And I am having fun!” Pure smile, loving eyes.  
Harry soaps Dale's shoulders. He moves back a tiny bit when Dale presses against him.  
Dale Cooper eyes unfocus as he rapidly negotiates how to save this. Nothing in his life matters as much as this does.  
“Harry please. Listen to me. Having fun with you _is_ the alternative." Coop gets serious brows. "If you think I'd be better off trying to keep immobile in an empty bed and _not_ having this lovely time with you, Harry... then I should have to inform you that you. Are. Mistaken.” He adds some playful salt, “Sorry to tell ya,” with a _so-there_ snootie face.  
His eyes though. Before Cooper looks away, Harry sees the fragile pain that has nothing to do with a bruised rib.  
  
Harry gazes over him. He smiles, conceding, “Well I see your point, Coop.”  
"Good."  
  
Cooper moves his head under the water until his hair hangs over his face. He strokes Harry's hips, watching the water drip from his hair and fall on Harry's cock. He takes the soap from him and rinses the bubbles from Harry's hand before bringing his thumb to his lips. He makes eye contact as he wraps his lips around it.  
Then gazes down again to lather Harry's package. Dale feels of Harry's cock, the bar of soap set aside as Coop carefully washes him without letting the bubbles near the head of his dick.  
Harry groans and leans into the sensation. He combs Dale's hair back with one hand while Coop swirls his tongue around the thumb of his other hand. Watching Cooper's mouth. Watching Cooper's eyes fall closed, and rolling open again. Watching his divine hands. Dale guides water to rinse his cock, to stroke it with hypnotizing slowness while he shampoos his balls. Then they get rinsed too and Dale is going down, slow, to kneel.  
“Oh Coop.” Harry groans. Dale kisses the thumb goodbye, looking up at him as he sits on his heels. His glistening pink cock points up at him from between his spread thighs. Harry threads his fingers through Dale Cooper's silky black hair.  
His perfect mouth. Open for him. So soft and red and wet.  
Begging open.  
“You're so beautiful, Cooper.”  
“I love you Harry. Please...”  
Harry shifts his hips forward.  
Dale sighs on the head of his cock, kissing it.  
Taking a delicate lick of the tiny lips at the eye.  
Opening his mouth again and looking up at Harry as he takes his cock onto his tongue.  
His hands grip his shaft, and he makes out with Harry's cock, slathering his tongue over it, round and round.  
Cooper moves him yet deeper, filling his mouth until his lips meet his knuckles and Harry can feel the back of his throat. Harry grunts and shivers, barely in command of a thrust. Dale blinks, moving back slow, curving his pointed tongue up the frenulum before fully glomming his relaxed tongue on his cockhead.  
He strokes with a tight fist and massages Harry's head with his lips tucked over his teeth, making small rotations as he moves on him... and back.... and onto his cock a little more... back... and then further yet.  
Harry is panting, losing control of his hips. Cooper presses his free hand to Harry's quaking thigh and takes him in, deep. Cooper stares up into Harry's face, seeing him _feel him_ swallow. Harry grunts.  
He feels the vibration of Cooper's moan on his dick.  
He squeezes Harry with his hand and lips, sliding back... His mouth leaves his cock briefly to say his name “Harry...” before imbibing him again, letting his hand off to deepthroat him completely.  
“Oh Coop!” Harry makes fists in Cooper's hair. Feeling Dale's noises, feeling his molars slide along his shaft, feeling him swallow as he begins to bob him down into the bend of his throat. Butting against Dale's soft palate as his dick engorges to apex and resists bending in its supreme flex that whips through his body from Harry's toes and up to the top of his skull.

“Oh god...” Harry growls. _"Lord!"_  
Cooper's little pink nose poking into his pubic hair, puffing, his wet eyes blinking up at him in his exertion, whining moans.  
“YeahCoop ohyeah _honey-? Ahh...”_ Harry loses a battle to attempt to withdraw as his orgasm bears down, it's all he can do to release Dale's hair as he thrusts with a gruff yell. Dimly hearing Dale's encouraging, lovely gorged notes as he is rocked with Harry's profound thrusts.  
Dale, gulping and gasping, gripping Harry's ass sharply tight.  
Harry moans, long.  
His cock pulsing deep inside Dale's heat, holding his head.  
He folds over, riding out the mellowing waves.  
  
Harry looks down on him as Dale lets his cock slide out from between his lips, parting with it in an exhausted, swollen-lipped kiss. He gasps up at Harry.  
Harry melts down to him, petting his hair and holding these shoulders that roll with the deep bellows-motion, half-drowned inhalations.  
Harry ravishes his crimson mouth between breaths.  
Then peppers his flushed face with kisses.  
Harry reaches back to swat the shower off and slap the stopper to fill the bath. He stops himself from swooning onto Coop and collapses against the side of the tub, unfolding his legs around Coop's thighs. Dale hooks Harry's legs and shifts to unfurl himself.  
Harry helps him stretch these long gorgeous legs, thumbing the little red spots on his chiseled knees. “Oh baby. You're so good.” He cradles the arch of one sweet foot and cups Coop's round face with the other hand.  
Dale pulls him to recline beside him in the sated embrace.  
Harry strokes Cooper's inner thigh, eyeing his rigid, pink cock. “What can I do for you, darlin?”  
“Um. I could soak in your attention for a while...” Harry stirs at the sultry burr in Coop's voice, hoarse from blowing him. “Until you're ready to have me in your bed.”  
“Sounds real good, Coop.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. hibiscus

  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry's strong tender hands do well to lull Coop. Stroking his body. Delicately squeezing his muscles. Rolling little circles on the points of his bones. Harry broadcasts an ease, a serene safety, by never breaking the contact.  
Never.  
Their breathing synchronized, they have the same expression, the Buddha's Eyes. “I love these hands, Harry.” Coop's hands take the slow ride on the backs of Harry's hands for a good while.  
A good while.  
Taking one up to his mouth to kiss. “I love them,” he says into Harry's palm.  
All the time in the world, “Well. . .These hands. . .

Love. . .

You.

Coop."

So easy to breathe 'coop' like a smiling, hinted kiss.

Tracing Dale's cheek with his folded fingers. Breaths like grace on Harry's wrist as he feels the fine semi-circle of his brow and cheekbone, and the fan of Dale Cooper's lashes.  
This hand opens and trails over his stilled lips. Fingertips drawn to the little fold under his bottom lip, between it and his chin, where the side of thumb fits perfectly. Where it can paint over these lips again, dip the cupid's bow on Dale's heart-shaped upper lip.  
All this. Harry with eyes closed.  
It occurs to him as he memorizes this beloved face, Dale had to have shaved before making the drive down. Harry smiles, scrubs his own five-o-clock shadow into Cooper's neck, winning a sigh, a new tremble.  
Dale's head lolls all the way back, bumping his head on the tub. Harry growls kindly on his bared neck, making a point to gaze at the reaction it brings to his sex. Coop's cock is throbbing for him again.  
Harry recalls how placing his hand on this throat made him come. The first time Cooper's lips opened on him, the first kiss, was on Harry's neck.  
Harry is full-on hard again in the cleft of Coop's ass. He hugs Dale against his chest.  
Harry barely lets him feel his mouth, not a kiss, but biting his own lip against Cooper's pulse.  
Cooper breaks out in taut gooseflesh like magic, his coral-pink nipples sharpen and he squeezes his fists over the rim of the bathtub. His buttcheeks flex on Harry's cock, he flexes _everywhere,_ he can even see those bands of muscle that thread through the ribs that Coop told him about. Harry relaxes his arms.  
“Breathe baby.”  
Coop immediately draws a stuttered breath. Then swallows.  
Coop looks at him and Harry sees the tremor in his eyes.  
Cooper's bloomed, takeable mouth. Damn.  
Harry looks into that pink wetness past the tips of his teeth.  
All he'd have to do, just shift a little bit... and he could be inside him right now.  
 _“Ohh Coop.”_  
Not that he would.  
Anymore of this, it won't be so easy to resist.  
“Ha—ree.” A creak in his voice that Harry put there. A slip of guilt colors Harry's thoughts for fucking Coop's face so hard when he came.  
Dale is bearing down on him sweetly, Harry feels the head of his cock on his tight aperture. Cooper's mouth gasps at him, mimicking the widening stretch they can feel. Harry splashes to grasp his flank, stops him as they both groan in harmony.  
“Mm. Stand up.”  
Cooper's eyelids flutter as he processes the command, getting his drunk legs moving like a deer foal. Harry palms Dale's bottom and helps lift him to standing, relishing the fullness of his pink ass sheening water.  
“Turn this way.” Harry, staying seated in the rolling water, guides his hips and turns with him. Harry massages this glamorous ass in his face for as long as it takes Cooper to realize Truman is waiting to catch his eyes the mirror. Dale's eyes wander and blink slowly, smiling and drugged, as he sways with the motion of Harry's attention. Cooper's eyes close and his little tongue pokes out of his goofy smile.  
Hell. He's never gonna guess.  
Harry snaps his fingers beside Dale's hip and points two fingers at the mirror. Coop looks down at the noise and follows Harry's intention, lighting up to see Harry's reflection there. Harry watches his face smooth over, desirous, as he gently parts Cooper's cheeks. Yep. Harry can tell Dale definitely groomed and shaved meticulously before making the trip down. Smiling, Harry disappears from the mirror.  
  
Harry leans into an open-mouthed kiss for the tight ring of sensitive flesh between his cheeks. Coop cries out, loud, a sharp-drawn gasp, pitching forward at the waist. Coop catches himself with a straight arm on the lip of the tub, but Harry's got him too.  
“Woah!” Dale whispers.  
“Woah is right. Is that okay?”  
“Ohgodyes! Hmm!”  
Harry can watch his face over the plane of his back. When he licks his button with a flattened tongue, Coop's jaw swings open as he yells in ecstasy. Harry draws circles and presses the tip of his tongue on Dale's center. Lurching to his elbows on the tub's rim with glassy sinus yips. Harry attempts to squeeze the circle of Dale's sphincter with his lips and loses contact when the man quakes. Harry locks an arm around each thigh and rolls his knuckles in his hot perineum. Harry licks his ass again, Dale whimpers, he wheezes. His knees go out but Harry's got him. Dale's head slumps onto his braced forearms.  
The mirror. His face is hectic red and utterly agonized, Harry's got him. His voice cracks on Harry's name, looking at him.  
“You tell me Coop.” Harry says, working. Beyond making out, slathering furiously.  
“Uh _hgn! I like it I like- I- Harry harryharryharry.”_  
Dale's hand in a fist in his raven hair. He wails yes, he sings he is he is Harry yes he is, Coop is coming, coming for Harry, yes please he, he, he likes it.  
That beautiful stutter.  
He blurts, “Fuck me, Harry, fuck fuck-” lost in crushed gasps.  
And now for sure is the proof of what Harry Truman could only guess at before, when Cooper begs him to touch him now, Harry please, please touch him and he does. Harry grips his rigid cock; Dale's powerful orgasm doubles down with a distinct, _new_ set of hard contractions. Coop makes this sound of increased, brainless, ejaculatory agony. Babbling again, I am I can-! Nodding at Harry's heated face, “I can- again y _eas Harry yes don't stop!”_

_And the precious time as Coop thrusts and butts back into Harry's embrace, sobbing wonderment all shredded up. And draining with pleasure, moldable as warmed clay..._

Sometime, it takes, for him to recover cognizance. At long last. Shaded, dazed eyes sling on Harry Truman. Those damn lashes.

Harry slumps a little bit because Dale Cooper blows his mind. Huffs a big ol' sigh in Dale's face.

  
  
Shredded voice, “I want you, Harry.”  
“I'm your man, Coop.”  
Harry stands up and towels dry, quick.  
Coop draped on the tub with his head rested on his arms, rolling his eyes up to watch Harry fluff his curls with devastated smile.  
He wobbles gamely to his feet and Harry brisks his body with the towel, playfully shaking this loosey-goosey Coop around.  
Coop lifts his leg to step over the bathtub and Harry hooks his arm under it.  
Cooper's arm circles his shoulders and he leans to him. The lax happiness to be swept up by Harry makes him glow.  
Like purring, Dale says, “This is how I travel now.”  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. navy

  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry Truman carries this hot Coop to his dark bedroom. Floats him down into his bed.  
There's no pulling away to take in the precious sight of a dream come true as Dale drags Harry on top of himself like a man drowning. Not frantic anymore, a dreamy sort of desperate.  
Disengaging an arm to light his lamp is like wrestling a net.  
Truman holds Dale's fat cheek and whispers _'shhhhh'_ into his ear, stilling him. Dale's thighs relax and fall open aside Harry's hips.  
The flare of a match bathes Cooper's features.  
He watches Harry put the flame to the wick in his old-fashioned oil lantern and flick his wrist to snuff the match. He kisses Dale's temple, inhales the mysterious jasmine scent of his hair, not washed away. Harry pulls the drawer of his nightstand to retrieve what they need.  
Harry brings the condom up to tear the corner with his teeth, but Coop nips up to do it for him with a smile. Harry assaults his mouth, growling contentment as Cooper's jaws swing open to him.  
He loops an arm under Dale's svelte waist and grinds his rod against Dale's plush cock.  
After what Harry did to him in the bath, Dale is engorged, still sizzling, but not erect. He cries out shredded pleasure as Truman rolls his dick. _“yeah harreee...”_  
Nosing Dale's face to the side, Harry purrs into his ear, “How many times did you come tonight, sugar.”  
“Unn?”  
Harry reaches between their flat stomachs to suit himself in the condom, watching Cooper's eyebrows furrow.  
Dale says, “Like... five?”  
Harry huffs an impressed little snort.  
Harry says, “Five.”  
“One was a double.”  
“...Wow, Coop.” Kissing proud smiles down his neck.  
  
All that 'don't stop, I can, again' in the bath had to be the twofer.  
That's the sort of nugget Harry can set a goal strategy on.  
Five.  
  
But then-- _Did he come when he blew me?_  
His eyes pop.  
  
Harry, driven to distraction, interrupts his enjoyable oral tour down Dale's torso to ask, "Okay Coop how do ya figure five. I gotta know."  
Coop illustrates with his hands, a peace sign for: "Two in a row on your couch..." he flashes a peace sign with his other hand, "two in row when you..." he pauses, bashful, the peace sign crooks and hides his lips, "...when you had me bent over..." he smiles on his knuckle and looks into Harry's eyes, "one of which, the last one, doubled." Knocking his fingers, double thumbs up.  
  
Harry does a circling kind of nod.  
"Okay Coop." A slow grin blooms. Dale sees and raises Harry that million-dollar smile.  
  
  
“You want some more?”  
Dale swallows. Thirsty quirk in his cutesy grin.  
Harry gentles Dale's nipple between his pooched lips.  
 _“harry”  
_ Coop's eyes roll closed.  
Harry handles his business, coating himself with ample lubricant while moseying his lips to his other nipple.  
He shifts to lick all the way down Dale's chest in a smooth motion, pausing to stab the tip of his tongue into his belly button. Then lifts away briefly for the last bit of prep. Dale opens drowsy bedroom eyes. Harry has a pillow for him. Coop lifts his bottom. Harry palms his supple globes as he settles his hips on the pillow. And drifts down between Cooper's long white thighs to nurse his thrashed cock. Supreme gentleness. Thinking of spun glass, tissue paper.  
Coop makes a sound-- something like a chirp, his lips cringe from his teeth.  
A tide of little jolts washes him as Harry cups his tongue under his shaft.  
He lifts his eyebrows at Dale, _okay?_  
Coop whines that chirp-note again, nodding with mind-blown shock.  
He blinks rapidly, his golden eyes popped-huge as his cock slides inside Harry's kind mouth.

  
He groans, hardening, fists clenched white-knuckled on the quilt. Harry reaches for one with his dry hand, caressing it so it opens to be held. Coop clenches his hand, shifting his hips nearer.  
  
Sweet. Sweet helpless moans as Harry suckles him, drizzling his tongue round his rocket pop.  
Distinctly not blowing, but melting him.  
His lubed fingertips graze up the hot valley under his plums.  
Dale's thighs jitter at the ghosted contact on his button.  
Harry's cheeks draw in as he introduces suction.  
Luring Dale's cock into the back of his throat, tasting the new drops of Cooper's rich, mineral serum.  
Harry laces their held hands into a more intimate grip.  
The other hand, though: Harry's fingertips swirl the nerve-choked radius between Dale's cheeks.  
Coop signals his assent with a little squeeze at every point of contact he has with Harry.  
  
Harry plies softly inside with one, the tip of one, and Cooper's sigh is an air of bliss.  
  
Harry treats Cooper's delectable cock with his best affection. Dale rolls his head on the pillow, grinds his cheek against his shoulder.  
  
Coop, stunned by the sensations, wears an expression like he is hearing the most beautiful music under heaven, but being unable to recall its title is breaking his heart.  
  
The best mistake Harry could make is trying to introduce a second finger.  
  
Dale's voice cracks on Harry's name in that priceless way. Harry's new favorite song.  
He tenses on Harry's digits, thighs rising off the quilt, bottom lifting from the pillow.  
Dale's hand splay-fingered in Harry's to signal the _'no'_ that he is incapable of voicing.  
Harry halts immediately. Then slowly, very slowly withdrawing.  
  
“Harry. . . I want _you. . .”_ His peach-dewed face pleads to him. He pulls Harry's hand. Reaching for Harry.  
  
Harry crests over Dale's body, falling into his embrace.  
“Yes Harry.”  
Falling into the unerring alignment.  
“Oh Coop.”  
  
Their lips meet, the pursed 'please' from Cooper, halted, as Harry penetrates him.  
Satin heat so tight, yet yielding as Dale's thighs collapse. Harry moans into Dale's gasp. Rocks inside his molten walls all the way. Languid.  
  
Harry's arms slide under Dale's shoulders, crushing him to chest. He tests Cooper's depth again like drifting away.  
Edging. Already lost.  
Harry has to break from Cooper's mewling kiss, turn his face into his neck to reign his concentration. Harry breathes heavily, pressure behind his eyes.  
Dale's torso trembles in his arms, the little quaking puffs in his ear are boiling Harry over anyway. That tongue dipping in his ear, damn. Gripping a fistful Dale's silky hair, Harry tilts away from these electric lips before he shoots his charge.  
Coop hums with salacious greed, his smile is a wall of beautiful fangs, sinking clawed fingers into Harry's back.  
Harry sucks hard on his neck and gives him a bounce up to the hilt, answering Cooper's strength.  
Dale responds, emphatically delighted.  
His nimble feet twine behind Harry's knees and between his thighs. He tries angling his pelvis up for more of Harry.  
Harry groans.  
And gives it, knocking Coop's spine slack like a house of cards.  
Coop's hands slap onto Harry's flexed ass, grasp at him, shivering under his tumult.  
Harry takes Dale's head a little further back with his grip of hair, observing the pleasure in Dale's wicked grin. Waxxing brighter in answer to Harry's increased vigor as he puts muster in his thrusts. “You like that, Coop?”  
“ah _Harry!”_ Breathless.  
Just as he's getting a good jump going, Harry's cock is compressed in a merciless vice. He grunts.  
Cooper's locked up like an anaconda. Harry winces, pooching out his lips, expecting to ride inside Coop's tempest this way.  
But no payoff.  
And without noise from Dale, Harry declines to chase it down.  
  
Harry soothes, "Okay Coop. Woah.” Gonna peel his shoulder blades off. “You win.”  
A forced whisper, “I-win. f-fuck.” Blinking at him with set teeth, looking far more surprised by the merciless treachery of his muscles than Harry is. Truman can read how steamed Coop is about it, too. This adorable keg of gunpowder is plum run out of patience for himself.  
"Honey..."  
Harry wishes he could finally tell him how goddamn cute he is but reckons Coop isn't in for being flattered during a wrangle with himself.  
Proud to have tipped Cooper's intense control into betraying them both this way.  
He reveres this marvel.  
Harry strokes Dale's taut, steely ribcage. Coop's face soothes, slowly, in response to Harry's smile.  
Guiding him by breathing long, deep breaths, "...ease up, wild honeybee. . . _easy_. . . "  
Cooper surfaces at his urging, recovering from the sprint.  
  
Harry segues into a slow ride and nips a gentle trail under Dale's clenched jaw.  
“Do you like that Coop.”  
“Harry you're so big...” A soft song. His legs quiver. His arms vine around Harry's, hanging on his biceps. Coop bites onto Harry's shoulder, a shy, shivering little hold.  
Harry stems his thrusts until a near stop. Dale's involuntary, reflexive moue disengages Harry's rod as he further slows. Harry grunts appreciation, Cooper curls toward him with a tragic pout. Harry immediately tenders inside again in the slowed dance, making Cooper arch in a raptured, soft wail.  
“Coop... so sweet...” Harry plays at penetrating him with torturous slowness.  
Treasuring his annihilated Coop.  
Learning how to love him best, teaching Dale his tenderness.  
Harry controls his angle, nodding into the precious mound of Cooper's prostate, making him pout beautiful, silent sobs. Dale's eyes glow with elation. Harry yearns to share his mouth again.  
They sustain this bliss. And after many long measures Harry kisses Dale's eyelids and cools his angle down, understanding how the intensity is working against Coop. Which means it is working against them both.  
  
Whispering to his dear one, “Can't you give me one of those doubles, little doll? . . ." Harry smiles, "Am I sweet to you, Coop?”  
Dale sighs 'yes' at him, Harry kisses the trouble from his brow.  
Harry gives Dale his best tenderness, rocking gentle.  
Cooper's sedate breaths match to Harry's sway. His body responds in a peaceful, undulating drift.  
“Harry. . . so good. . . ”  
Harry caresses Dale's face, strokes his inky hair, smiling, “Finally got you calmed down, huh?”  
Dale admires him in his bliss. “Yes, Harry. . .”  
Wrapped in Cooper, feeling high, very much stoned, feeling himself reel to immerse and bond with Dale's inner beauty.  
“I love your smile, darlin.”  
Bathing his face in Harry's fluffy curls, “I love you Harry.”  
“Love you so much, Cooper. I love you so.”  
“So good to me,” Dale sighs.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. tide pool




	9. the bends

  
  
  
  
  
Harry nuzzles Dale's round, smiling cheeks. Painting lazy loops on Dale's chest with his palms, Harry shifts back, sitting up. Dale demonstrates ambition under Harry's appraising gaze by scooting his hips onto his lap, beckons his desire for Harry's gentle hands to roam down where they are needed most.

Harry wraps Coop's roiling, satiny organ with both hands, smoothing its sleek length.  
“Yes Harry.”  
In relaxed elation, Cooper's hips encourage Harry to start their dance in earnest.  
  
Dale's blissed-out little piping noises blend with Harry's warm groans as kisses dissolve.  
Dale's jaw swings open and Harry's face kindles with a brimming look, his dizzy eyes darting all over Cooper's face. Panting through his teeth as Coop reaches up to trace fingertips on Harry's soft lips.

Their spirited bounce hastens and their bodies make the clapping sound of love.

They both enjoy the unpredictability their rhythm is earning.  
Each succumbs to an impulse to clutch at his love. Then reeling away from concentration, slackening... regaining focus to rain favoring kisses across his beloved's face until their lips are incapable of wrestling.

Harry bounces him, feeling Dale's cock thicken in his hand in the final dash to finish. Cooper's hands plunge around in the soft haven of curls as he begins to hyperventilate. He bites his lips to keep from helplessly stuttering obscenities.

Dale jitters as the orgasmic shockwave whips his spine, quakes across his muscles. Singing that rising note...

It's a match and Harry buries his slackened face in Dale's chest with a yell. He bucks with Cooper's shudder, calling out again, nearly drowning out Dale's sweet wail.

Harry's arms haul at him, denying capitulation as Dale's body arches, “That's it Coop.” He growls, grimacing as he works Coop's delirium into the doubled eruption. Madly craving to earn the lifetime prize of ravaging Dale Cooper into orgasmic oblivion.  
“Do it, Coop. Tell me baby.”  
Coop shrieks Harry's name in a gasp, bucking helplessly as Harry slips from his drenched body.

Cooper singing his name in a rapid-fire auctioneer staccato when Harry penetrates him with long fingers and flicks his gland with teasing patience, cranking his impudent member.

In answer to Coop calling and calling Harry's name as though fucked blind and lost, Harry says, “I'm right here, Coop. Right here, baby...”  
Leaves off beating poor Coop's cock to take him gently into his mouth.  
A hand splayed on Harry's shoulder, jolting as though electrified, Coop slings a leg over the other shoulder. Harry puffs and drives Coop into another withering frenzy.

Cooper's wide, glittering eyes roll, Harry swallows so many times he checks Coop's watch.

“Breathe, Coop...” Harry drawls, suiting himself in another condom, “Wait for me, wild thing,” Eager to jump back in with Dale begging.  
Harry falls over him with determined tenderness. One leg flexed straight between their slapping chests, the ball of the foot planted up on the headboard, Dale's heart flutters like a bird's wing.  
So good Harry  
The best  
So big  
Don't stop  
Harry

All Cooper can really do is come and come, come again, and grin, and clasp at Harry like a bug _in extremis_ until he passes out.

***

Aroma of french toast, coffee. Firewood.  
Harry swallows and says, "There's Coop!" from the bedroom doorway, biting his sideways smile. As if he hasn't been slinking by the room every two minutes since he left Cooper sleeping peacefully to get breakfast goin' and feed the chickens and iron his suit.  
Dale's eyes glow to see Harry. Looking sexy and lanky and stunning in a tight black t-shirt.  
Coop says, “wow...” breathless.

This bedroom has never felt more warm or looked more idyllic than this bright gold spring morning with Cooper in his bed, so gorgeous in Harry's Steeplejacks football jersey, softened finer than silk by tackles and washes and time.  
“You're a knockout, Coop.”

So relieved to see each other's blatant, unabashed fondness and desire.  
Only by seeing it are both men wholly assured that no irreparable mistake had been made last night. Each having worried the other were harboring regrets. So much needless pain, gone.

An intrusive thought continues to sting Harry.  
Coop will leave, Cooper will say goodbye and they will never see each other again and this bed will just go back to being empty.  
And once again he finds any way he can to bury the thought in some mental drawer and keep trying to make every moment the best moment he possibly can.  
If this is all they get, at least the memories will be perfect. And maybe after many, many years it won't be agony to have them.  
So he smiles at Coop. The bridge of Harry's nose stings.

Cooper mirrors Harry's smile. And saddened eyes.  
Harry can't stand to see those big, soft, sad eyes, so he goes to him, watching his boots scuff across the floor. Squeezes Coop's shoulder clad in his quarterback jersey and decides Coop has to keep it. The idea of this jersey lurking in his drawer like a timebomb after Coop is long gone is too awful a prospect.

Coop clears his throat and manages a buzzing croak: “Mornin 'arry.”

“Ohh _bumble_ bee-! Hang on... I got a big ol' jar of raw honey that'll do wonders for a sore throat,” Harry illustrates with his hands, “Big ol' fat chunks of beeswax suspended in it ya can chew all day, Coop.”  
Harry trots away retrieve the curative honey from his pantry, returns and crosses the room to sit with Dale on the bed. He asks, “Coop, can I treat you to breakfast in bed?”  
Dale smiles affirmation.  
Snuggling up, Harry unscrews the lid of the mason jar of gleaming, dark honey. Dipping his long fingers to fish out a wedge of drippy honeycomb to feed Dale, watching him suckle the honey from his fingers before chewing the comb.  
Harry stands, "And I'll give you all you want later, too, Coop. Meanwhile, I've got a hot dish right here... the whole spread, Coop."  
Cooper's licks his honey-slicked lips and grins. Wider. Wider still. Happy little shark. Harry can see the sugar hit his bloodstream and light him _up._  
He strokes Cooper's black and wild hair while Coop's jaw works the honeycomb.  
Harry brings french toast and coffee, warm maple syrup. A little orange bottle rides in on the tray too.  
Harry tries not to look guilty for having thought Cooper wouldn't have gone to bed with him if he weren't loaded on half a pain pill and two smidgens of good whiskey.  
Self-conscious, Dale shyly plucks his wad of chewed beeswax from his lips, deposits it on a china saucer delivered for this explicit purpose. Sets it over on the nightstand. A quick glance during this fastidious task confirms that Harry doesn't think he's gross.  
“You can have a fresh piece anytime you want, bumblebee. I'll show you the hives later. Maybe the girls'll be flyin. S'been warm enough...”  
Coop lights up again. “Beehives too?? You have got it all Harry Truman.”  
“I do now, Coop.”

He swallows the prescribed two pills of pain relievers with coffee without needing to be asked.  
They share breakfast feeling very happy.

***

The dishes are set aside.  
“Harry I had an awful dream.” Dale's woeful expression and downcast eyes convey to Harry just how awful.  
Harry wraps both hands around one of Coop's.  
Harry is there for him, right beside him, on his bed. And they both just sort of stare at a point on the country quilt in front of them.  
“You wanna tell me about it, Coop?”  
With his lips all pressed together and disappeared, shaking his head 'no,' Cooper sighs, heavy. “Yeah.”  
Harry thinks hard how he can be of comfort.  
He spends a minute crafting some words for Coop, combs fingers through his raven hair, and says, “Awful dream, huh. Well let that be a lesson to ya, Coop.”  
Dale looks up at him with furrowed brows.  
Harry says, “Maybe you'll listen to me next time I tell you to have sweet dreams.”  
Coop smiles.  
“I will, Harry. Next time.”  
“...Yeah.”  
“...I might take some reminding. I have a bad habit of being forgetful.”  
Harry lacks the gumption it would take to say, Forget whatever you want, Coop, so long as it ain't me.  
Damn it hurts.  
Coop studies his face for a moment.  
“Why don't they make cowboys as pretty as you in the movies, Harry?”  
Hoo, shucks... Harry drops his blushing mug away and swings a long leg over the side of the bed to kick a little dustbunny.

Dale takes a deep, deep breath, making some decision. Huffs it out. “I have been examining an urge I have to remain reticent about certain subjects, Harry. The dream I mentioned being one of them. Good a place to start as any. I really want not to say this. And I warn you I am about to dump so much crap on you right now I'd rather eat a phonebook or find a therapist in one, I'm so scared. God that's hard to say. I am.” Breathing hard from having charged through this last.

Coop bites his lips, presses his knuckles to them, eyes darting around on the country quilt. And if Harry were one to analyze body language it might look as if Coop were trying to cram his fist in his mouth rather than talk anymore.  
“It takes a lot of strength to admit being scared, Coop.” Harry gently takes that hand and kisses it.

Cooper glances up at Harry. The warm encouragement he sees settles into him. Another deep breath, sighs it out, “Harry you're so beautiful.” He holds Harry's hand with both of his and draws it to himself as he speaks.  
“The fact that I would prefer to pretend the violent nature of the dream isn't troubling me is a clue that I should try to attempt a new mode of approach than the one I am accustomed to. As I said, it was a violent dream. Dreams are the method the subconscious uses to prepare one for things that can be difficult to face. Facing me with my fear of hurting you.  
“I _did_ dream I hurt you, Harry. Maybe even killed you. I was spared any nightmare murder scene, no small blessing, but it was just as bad. It was so bad. Oh, Harry...”

Cooper puts his hand in the air, his voice is hushed, describing the dream.  
“The moon looked like a skull. I was wearing acres of animal hide and howling at it.” Cooper spreads his hands at chest level, “I cracked my sternum and my ribs opened like a book. I ripped out my heart. It was so heavy. Then I _erased_ any trace of you, and my heart, so completely..." A wave of his hand. "No world-class detective would ever find a trace. But I didn't feel clever, I was horrified. My face turned to stone. I limped into a tornado. I wanted to throw up. I jarred myself awake on purpose.  
“I don't know what the animal hide represents, but the rest is a parody of my waking-life's plan to just walk away from you, and Twin Peaks, like I didn't start falling in love with you weeks ago. Just keep pretending my heart out. Because that _is_ my plan, Harry. . .  
The heavy heart. . .  
The tornado and the limp represents that it sucks! It's fuckin _lame!”_ His baby face squoonches up in a mighty frowning pout.  
Harry, surprised at this passionate flare, giggles despite himself. “Aww babe... that's a sucky plan alright...”  
Coop grinds his wrists into his eye sockets and moans, “I know...! Please forgive the crude outburst, Harry.”  
  
  
Harry dips his head at Cooper and lays on his best cowboy syrupy-drawl: “Are ya shore ya didn't jes' dream you were too gaddamn _cute_ I died and went to heaven?”  
Coop's rare giggle is like a little bell. He looks off to the side, blinking hard, “That didn't occur to me, no.” Harry sees his nose blush.  
Harry has to boop that nose.  
“Guess what I nose Coop.”  
“What.”  
“Chicken butt.”  
Cooper nods.  
“I also know... why... you dreamed about the animal hide and howlin at the moon, lil Coop.” Harry bops around a little bit. Feels pretty cool to know somethin Coop don't know.  
Dale says, “...You know why?”  
Harry, grinnin, “Yep!”  
Deep voice: “... Is it chicken thigh?”  
He laughs, “Even better, chicken Coop.”  
Coop narrows his eyes at Harry's sly smile.

His little hand creeps toward Harry's and stops before it gets there. Harry closes the distance and holds his hand on the big blue heart stitched on the country quilt. Coop stares at it and continues.  
“Everyone I have ever loved has died, Harry. Perhaps there are a few exceptions, but the exceptions are not much worse off. I'm not being melodramatic. But save yourself while you can, Harry!”  
Shaking his head, “Too late, Coop.”  
“I'm cursed. I ruin people's lives. I really am, Harry. I don't want any more proof of it. And the way... I felt when I woke up... ah, I believe...” Harry can see Coop's face fidget a little bit, a hard blink, a swallow. They must be real heavy feelings to have caused him to lose track.  
Harry puts a hand on Coop's shoulder and rocks so gently. After a minute, Coop picks up the little safety rock, too, and takes a deep breath. “Y'know? There was one good part of the dream, Harry.”  
“Oh yeah?”  
“Yeah. I shredded my vocal chords howling your name and I could never speak again, the-end! ...Why did I have to wake up, Harry. Keep your damn cowboy magic honeycomb to yourself next time and let me hush.”  
“Geez Louise.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. tiny shell

  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry Truman is so good at petting. Has this sense with his hands.   
Can tame a big tangled ball of turmoil, soothe it down. Calm it out.  
Harry knows there's a lot of worry.   
Heavy worry.  
He never says, and never pulls, but draws a Coop into his arms, _come here._  
Harry's palm moves light, like grace, back on Coop's hot temple.

Cooper settles into Harry's chest as Harry pets his head.   
Palm and fingers are putting everything right. Harry doing so much more, like magic, than just sleeking Coop's hair into place like he likes it.   
And Dale's face goes slack with closed eyes. Smells the good home smells of this morning, the good silky easy touching.   
The instant Cooper's mind wanders to work concerns, how soon he will have to go--  
Harry is humming, so very soft. And it draws Coop's concentration to the little golden melody.  
Harry feels Dale relax, draws a sip of air at his temple. Nuzzles his head and sings a very careful and perfect little song.  
Cooper's cheeks pull round with smiling.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. thermal

  
  
  
  
  
  
Squeezing Dale's shoulders through the treasured jersey, Harry has been thinking how how will say it.  
Best to just go for it.  
“There's a big... _shindig_ in town today, Coop. . .”  
Dale, though very still and quiet, radiates palpable electricity. Harry feels his own face warming as he clears his throat and asks Cooper to be his date to “the Caribou Festival. I'd be real honored to show ya around. There's chainsaws and a bazaar, and people... people cut loose.”  
“My word.” Cooper whispers.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. subduction

  
  
  
  
  
This is a great way to hold Coop.  
Ideal.  
The same configuration they had on the couch.  
Easy to hold Coop and stay behind his face.  
No pressure, not face-to-face, and just be near him.  
  
Or lean up just a little...  
  
  
How Cooper's lips twitch and his cheek dimples.  
Harry can watch him hide under his eyelashes.  
  
He turns his face toward Harry, yet, down a little, with his chin tucked to his chest, Cooper's voice is is a soft buzz:  
“Of all the things I could do to today, Harry...”  
Harry absorbs the subtle, instantaneous cues Dale Cooper makes _  
//eyes  
//muscles & spine  
//shy smile,  
_“A Caribou Festival sounds tops.”  
Dale revolves toward him with a reading slowness.  
Coop says, ' _you show me around?'_ but it's so tiny, bashful.  
His face fills the world. Blazing hopeful glory at him; wild and sick and tip-top all at once.  
He stuns Harry.  
Worse than ever.  
That flickering is happening. It's a trip.  
"I want to go with you, Harry."  
  
A sigh rocks out of Harry Truman, hears words falling out, “. . .Yeah. We could go."  
Harry mirrors Coop's smile. Dale touches his face.  
More unbidden words tumble out, hugging Cooper, "Or maybe I should just keep you right here forever.”  
  
Coop's lips twist, balked at Harry's charm. He stutters, “Wuh-well that's a good idea _too.”  
_ Cooper's hand latches on Harry's forearm, a feigned kiss before he rallies the courage to meet Harry's eyes.  
  
Their grins stretch, mutually, an inch apart.  
  
  
Harry spreads his fingers on Coop's shoulders.  
And when Coop's dark-luminous eyes fall closed, Harry moves his nose into the the cupid's bow of his lips and  
Dale opens his mouth, wide and slow, on Harry's mouth...  
and Cooper's tongue is sneaking in, Harry tries to taste it, and then-- teased with a ghost of a bite,  
fiesty nips, wrenched away  
Harry chases down firm, chaste lips.  
“You taste so good,” Harry sighs on them, drowsy.  
Cooper's hot neck bumps against Harry's mouth.  
And Coop's round, bare bottom insinuates into his lap.  
  
Harry takes a breath. His hand comes up to grasp Cooper's waist, slipping up under the quarterback jersey.  
A slinky glance of Cooper's sidelong, ripe grimace and then Dale's river-cold fingers fall over his eyelids.  
Harry bites his neck with love and Cooper bends to him.  
  
Easy as spreading butter, wilting into spooning.  
Harry wishes he could see Dale's exposed hip as he paws the sheets down and surges against his back.  
Coop's cold fingers doing this hot blindfold thing, like a mock-headlock.  
Harry twines up Cooper's other arm, above their heads, pressing it into the mattress, sucks deep at his neck.  
Intentionally sucks blood to mark a hickey, _is that too hard-?_ Harry blinks under Cooper's fingers, _say something,_ but Coop grinds into Harry's sideways lap and makes a sweet groan.  
Harry nudges his nose up to feel Cooper's smiling pleasure and ravages back down on his neck  
with abandon.  
All hot breath.  
Coop finds Harry's erection with determined action of his hips and says, _“Yah_ Harry.”  
Then bites at Harry's tricep, sweet at first, dragging his nose and cheek on his arm.  
And a sudden nasty pinch-bite, locking his top-leg over Harry's.  
Harry gasps, Dale's fingers over his eyes slatting open like window blinds when Harry tenses.  
  
Vision restored, Harry glares at Cooper's bad-thirsty expression. Eyelids blushed, teeth showing between his vulgar pout.  
Coop tugs his head and shimmies against him. Under him.  
They both look down at Harry's big hand on Dale's long thigh, the sheets all tangled around their legs.  
  
Harry makes a slow-motion show of reaching for the prize, kissing gentle across his clavicle.  
Coop quivers against him before he touches it.  
  
The thigh lifting to show and invite, for a moment the exposed bone in the middle of the room is like a code blue, fucking emergency.  
Harry's face falls, he huffs long in appreciation gazing at Cooper's body.  
Then Coop hipchecks back under the sheet to hide his gorgeous, mauve cannon, like it's some type of shy vampire. Curling under Harry.  
  
  
“Hold me down” Cooper growls quiet.  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. rift

  
  
  
  
  
Harry spoons over Dale, flush.  
Cooper's eyes close under drawn brows.  
Exposing his neck with forceful angling of his jaw.  
Little teeth. Glint of pearl.  
Nudging his rump up to Harry.  
In the turn, one of Coop's arms is between their bodies. That forearm snakes higher under Harry's belly. Dale begging to be pinned, his hand paws, _claws,_ in bodily hint as Harry settles his mouth into Dale's neck.  
Automatic: this wrist in Harry's grip. Like a magnet.  
Harry vacuums Dale's fine skin like siphoning gasoline.  
The hand stills.  
Cooper's body shivers and seems to flatten as most of his muscles snap lax. He snuffs an animal sound like, _Yeahh._ Face obscured.  
Harry obeys to chomp at his ear.  
His bumblebee shifts under his hips, drawing Harry's girth between the warm and firm slopes of his cheeks.  
  
Coop commands: _'pull my hair,'_ in a toothy sigh.  
Harry grips, but doesn't pull, the hair at the back of his skull.  
Coop makes a sound like a chopped-up grunt, planting it, muffling it into the bed.  
Harry uses his grip to turn and reveal Dale's face, not letting him hide. Responding to Harry's control, Cooper's spine curls.  
His red maw surfaces, gasped wide. Harry's jaw swings open too, he plunges in, claiming him in a sprawled, probing kiss.  
Harry doesn't linger in it. Drawing up, out of the greedy drink to savor the effect on Dale.  
Transfixed by his hanging mouth, they gulp at the same time.  
Harry throbs at Dale's threshold.  
  
Dale's free hand clustered up at the furthest corner of the mattress like a burl of exposed bone.  
  
Cooper's sultry, shaded eyes find Harry's. A blink so slow, massive irises like inverse suns.  
Tossing his neck at him.  
Whisper-shred voice, “How bout those _cuffs...”_  
A beat.  
Harry looking at Cooper's edged teeth tucked into his fat lip.  
Harry's head tilts. Bluffing like an expert, baring a smile right back, “Oh really.”  
Dale's parted lips and subtly swaying hips are the retort.  
Harry's skin creeps.  
Cooper's body goes all the way slack under him. Too pale.  
He breathes, 'take me...' and his eyes aren't sultry. But sick.  
  
Harry says, “No.”  
Letting go his wrist, surfacing away from his back.  
Harry's erection flags.  
 _I can't play like this  
  
  
_ Harry looks away.  
Turns away, sitting with his heavy gut and limp dick at the edge of the bed until Dale Cooper gets up and escapes the room.  
  
 _  
  
  
  
_


	14. below deck

  
  
  
  
  
  
The heaviness doesn't leave the room when Coop does.  
An indistinct bubble of time with Harry just phased out, automatically breathing and not seeing his hands or the floor.  
Every element of Coop saturating his numbed senses. The last echoes of a struck bell.  
Some other, actual sound almost escapes his notice.  
The front door.  
Harry thinks he's getting moving, but it's a false start. He focuses, gives another interior shove and stands.  
 _He's going  
don't let him go_

His pants, where...  
When did he take them off, what a weird thing to forget. Time shows back up and Harry can't go fast enough. He yanks at a dresser drawer and leaves it, it doesn't matter, naked as a jaybird in his own driveway, or tarred and feathered or dressed like Louis the XVI, just go go. Go now.  
He leans at the bedroom doorway. Some lump of cloth under his foot, his grey slacks... scooping them up and jamming one leg and then the other as he trots through the house. Every inch of his skin aching from Dale's contact as if he had been buffed with silks all last night. Zipping just before he gets out the front door.  
He says, “Coop...!” like a polite cough.  
He's still there, impeccable suit and tie all done up tight, how fast he got dressed. Like a magic trick. Dale Cooper in the dooryard.  
In the sunshine.  
Next to the driver's side door of his champagne-colored rental sedan. Keys in hand, looking at Harry's chest instead of his face. And drifts away, gazing blank at the car window in front of him.  
A statue of _Man With Keys._  
Harry catches his breath, had been holding it since he heard the sound of Dale walking out.  
A soft smile on autopilot that Coop doesn't see.  
“Hey...” Harry says warmly.  
A distracted little bow of his head, stilted half-smile is Coop's acknowledgment.  
“You-- yer leavin?”  
Coop's eyes are huge and gold and arresting facets in his neutral face. Guilty somehow, looking caught. Also, like Harry is a benign stranger and nothing of note has happened because we don't even know each other.  
Harry's big useless hand flaps up without intent, useless like a pancake.

A gripping ache compels words, _demands_ he find the right words... What the hell are they?! “Uhh...” Oh crap, say words, Harry, why why why does this feel like a starter gun went off and he'll never win the race because he can't move off the line.  
“Huh-- hey, stranger.” And this moronic flapjack hand _waves_ at Coop. Harry laughs a true little chuckle that comes easy because he laughs at himself.  
One side of Coop's mouth curls, he blinks and, with the hand not holding car keys, wafts fingers in a return wave.  
  
He unlocks the car. Opens the door.  
His hand perched on the sharp corner of the window. Cooper's motion fades like watching a single snowflake fall home in a bank of white ground.  
“You wanna... still gonna check out the Caribou Festival, Coop?” _With me?  
_ Vacant nod. “Sounds pretty cool. Chainsaws.”  
“I hope I-uh... see you there.”  
“We aren't going together.”  
Coop appears to realize this should sound like a question so he tags lifted eyebrows after it.  
To fix it.  
Harry sees his adam's apple bob.  
  
“Yeah, we'll go, Coop.”  
  
So fragile and powerful through Harry's eyes. Dale leans into his car (wearied, irritated by the necessity to constantly mask the pain in his fucking tiresome ribs), picks up his folded trenchcoat from the front seat and pops the trunk latch. From the trunk, retrieves a colorful dufflebag of windbreaker-type material that appears to weigh nothing.  
“I'm all set, Harry. Let's have a nice day.”  
“Consider it done.” Harry smiles.  
Flicker of despair. Ghost of fury.  
 _/watch your mouth_  
 _/don't tell me to consider a nice day with you already done, Harry, how dare you_  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. driftwood

  
  
  
  
  
“I can hear the chainsaws already.” Dale says, bright-eyed.  
Harry lets his foot off the gas to let the engine noise hush, that buzzy sound drifts into the cab.  
  
Harry thinks of telling Dale his personal quandaries with attempting to organize the chainsaw artists; the jugglers, the carvers, the dancers and barkers that come out of the woodwork every spring. . . not to shut them down, but . . .   
Once upon a time, Harry tried drafting waivers for participants, abandoned drafts that never saw a signature . . .   
considered, like, a basic-safety application, maybe? . . .   
the attempt to certify and regulate the enthusiastic artists never got off the ground.   
Harry's Deputies backed him, and agreed in the off-season that, Yeah, things get a little crazy, chainsaws in the air and new blood starts learning every year, shouldn't we look out?  
It was a nice thought, but, the only thing Harry made sure to push through was the budgeting for first-aid stations and hemo-stat kits: speckled all over the park and main street. And to-date there hasn't been a grievous injury.   
It really does seem like the Caribou Festival operates under its own brand of mystic protection. It seems like a thing Coop would be entranced to hear, but  
all the red-tape and cloistering protectiveness flies out the window.  
Because Coop has his face aimed at him.   
His shiny, soft and pinked excitement swallows Harry's world. Vaporizes every thought Harry has. And the Bronco rolls down well under the speed limit as Harry smiles back.  
Cooper breaks eye-contact briefly, Harry remembers to pilot.  
Cooper looks up, caging another type of excitement.   
He says:  
“Can we park?”   
Real low.  
Harry deftly avoids the eyes-and-lashes trick Dale wields at him. But that growing and glowing grin is palpable as a spotlight on Harry's blush.  
“I got you, Coop.”   
Handy-dandy turn-off right here.  
  
Coop has his own stuff he considers weaving to Harry.  
Something like...  
'don't hold it against me, but I did a love spell on you yesterday, Harry.   
If you don't mind, I need to do it again to make sure it takes.'  
And just as Dale gets himself giddy in believing he'll say such a thing, and smiling at the idea that he could be so bold and honest, Harry thrusts the drivestick into park and jumps across the benchseat at him.  
Dale blinks but Harry doesn't kiss him, watching him close, their thighs link like magnets and Harry's hands are gentle, skating his shoulders and arms.  
Harry hummms.   
Cooper breathes Harry's name, happens to notice the shifting Harry does, the evidence of his heated stirring.  
  
“Y'voice does things to me Coop.” He growls.  
  
“I . . . see that, Harry,” he says with a slung jaw, and to his bliss, Harry fills his mouth all the way with his tongue.   
They shove their lips in the daze. Stroke the sides of each other's chests. Fingers lilting waves of bone and muscle.  
Dale clutches a leg over Harry's and yanks himself nearer.   
Harry squeezes his hip, hard.   
Cooper bonks his face into Harry's, plunging his tongue in Harry's sugary-silk mouth and licking at him, inside. Harry's head drifts back in the force of Coop's exploration.   
Harry bobs his head on Dale's tongue and grips his ass, lifting him off the seat. And Harry lets go with ardor, biting hot at him and Coop doubles down his intensity, fast little sniffs and bared teeth and hard licking. Coating Harry's lips with their mingled nectar and polishing his teeth. Probing, Coop keeps yawning wide with nothing to fill him. More feigned aggression when he fails to draw Harry's tongue in, a strident teacher.   
Lost in all the hard-slow groping steam and humming and grunting, Harry makes a sudden move and breaks the kiss. What happens so fast leaves Dale feeling cold-cocked.  
  
Harry reaches past Cooper's body to pop the passenger door open.  
Harry ducks away, gentle and swift, snapping his own door open behind himself and slinking backward and out of the truck.   
  
When Harry's door clonks shut, Coop is lost.  
 _//what what happened  
_ Cooper tries to blink his bugged-out eyes, his arms tremble like a train is about to hit him and there's nothing he can do. He swallows a mouthful of syrup and he can't think, heart pounding so hard it obliterates cognizance of _where..._  
  
Coop jumps when Harry leans into the open passenger door.  
His eyes all wide, the little gasp.  
Meaning to embrace him, Harry hesitates and smiles a warm sound, “HUHneybee...”  
This guilty look on Dale's face, _no honey you didn't do anything wrong,_ “I'm sorry, Coop I didn't mean to startle you....” feeling it's okay to touch him, reading Coop's rapid little blinks, chuckling soft when Dale embraces first.  
Dale grimacing before he hides in Harry's curls, whispers, “You _snuck!”  
_ “I . . .” Harry sighs, “didn't mean to.”  
  
His little heart beating so fast, rabbit fast.  
  
And now Coop's little cautious kisses on his earlobe, the brush-strokes of lashes on Harry's temple.  
  
Harry drags his palms up and down Dale's back, deep drags. Could do this all day.   
  
That rabbit-heart bongo cools out and Dale turns toward him like warming molasses.  
Harry says, “I just wanted to make room....”  
Letting Coop move his legs, and Harry's palms itch to grasp under his thighs. He pets Dale's hair instead.   
His darlin sniffs at Harry's lips, nuzzles into subdued kisses that crank at Harry's desire worse than anything they've done together, yet.   
  
Coop's arms quiver but his knees lock like a vice on Harry's hips. All of Dale Cooper's heat signals are gaining speed, his mewling and growling breath and trickling, gripping hands, the way his kisses nudge Harry's head around. Yet it's a smell, some untraceable smell that tells Harry  
it's time--   
and Harry draws a flat palm down Coop's shirtbuttons. Twiddling his blue and pearl silk tie on the way down. Coop's eyes flare-low watching Harry's face, Harry just watching his own hand encounter Dale's belt and buckle.  
Coop snuffs through clenched teeth when Harry kneels in the dust, kneels between his knees.  
Harry cups Dale's ample groin with the hand not toying his belt, and Coop's arm bolts up to grip the handle on the roof of the Bronco, hips jolting.  
His breathing all stuttered as Harry thumbs the belt out of the buckle, the pin out of the eye...  
then starts tugging... the strap _flaps,_ the catch of his slacks opens with no effort...  
then Harry using two fists to tug his pants and boxers half-way down Dale's long slim thighs...  
and bang, Coop drops from the safety-handle.   
Cooper grunts loud and unbidden as his cock swings free, up, caught in Harry's mouth.  
Falls back on the bench seat as his elbows scoot out and fail to support him too. Crying out, croaking, as Harry ….   
_“Harry!”_ strokes his brainlessly writhing thighs, claws his clothes to help him move. Drinkin him, smoking and shaking his head to work, work. Shrouds his hot dick inside his cheeks, causing wild coiling, and striking.   
Harry marks, notes and memorizes to keep forever how:   
Dale's pretty and vicious hand sinks into the seat-back til his fingernails disappear...  
the wild little kick-back when his heel _thwoks_ the running board....  
up-pointed chin, slow arrhythmic thrashing.   
Savoring every halting, grinding conflict of this beauty's chaotic musculature as Harry begins blowing an earnest cadence.   
And trying to cushion, hold him down, and set him free all at once.  
  
 _Dale Cooper's eyes pop and the trees and sky through the windshield are all GREEN and  
Golden gold, bright bright.  
“ohh it's so beautiful”  
  
_It feels like victory when Dale clamps his fist in Harry's curls and shoves his skull against himself.  
“Yes baby,” Harry burbles, and sinks on. “Gimee gimme-”  
 _“Ugn love you-!”  
  
  
  
  
_


	16. riptide

  
  
  
  
  
Harry simmers in the sweet time here, hardly believing this reality.  
His breath just stops.  
Dale in daylight, ravished.  
Blasted.  
All over his mundane truck seat.  
Harry leans up, scared to even take a knee to stand and disturb … such a sight....  
  
Dale Cooper looks like a _feast:  
_ _Pants tugged down to plump-white half-thighs, sprawled.  
Rosy cock lolling on his tight tummy.  
One little coral-sharp nip, exposed.  
All this skin so butter-cream...and face turned away, just neck...  
_  
Coop's virginal and wonton perfection is jarring, STARK, here in Harry's home of blunt gearshifts.  
  
He smells like a baked summer sidewalk kissed with sweet rain.  
Definite ten degrees warmer, leaning past the door.  
Spring tastes good.  
  
One of Coop's hands... latched on the wheel.  
  
Harry's stomach cramps with want, need.  
Harry helps him close his legs, a tiny dance-step of regret and utmost respect. Because Coop seems to be unconscious.  
  
Dale stirs.  
  
Barely facilitates Harry's attempt to redress him.  
Mostly riding along, as Harry tugs-, tucks him in.  
  
Pretending to help: the belt.  
  
It's all a ploy to earn kisses.  
Coop's bottom lip puffs, that obscene cupid's bow pouts and smirks at Harry.  
Famished and very lazy under-lash kisses.  
  
Harry indulges...  
sinking on  
  
Somehow a shoe fell off, and it's like a drunk-Cinderella moment getting it back on Cooper's foot.  
  
“There's no helpin _this,”  
_ Harry resumes the driver's seat.

  
Cooper smiles up from his lap.  
Wicked.  
“Uh Lord...” Harry mumbles, keying ignition.  
  
  
 _vrooom vroom  
  
  
  
  
_


End file.
